ll 


• 

'^A 


MILDRED    CARVER,  U.S.A. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK    -    BOSTON  •   CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.S.A. 


BY 
MARTHA   BENSLEY   BRUERE 


Neto 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1919 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1918  AND  1919, 
BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 


.191.9, 
BY  THE  MACMITiAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  aid  electrotyped.    Published  MaicV,  1 


Norfaooti  JJheas 

J.  S.  Cushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


MILDRED    CARVER,  U.S.A. 


2134423 


Mildred   Carver,  U.S.A. 


CHAPTER   I 

A  I  extremely  pretty  girl  came  through  a  long  win 
dow  onto  the  veranda  of  a  house  set  high  above 
Torexo  Park.  The  house  had  been  built 
long  ago  by  her  grandfather,  William  Carver,  a  con 
servative  gentleman  who  felt  that  his  wish  to  live 
where  he  could  look  across  the  green  summits  of  the 
Catskills  justified  the  spending  of  much  money.  Many 
new  people  had  come  to  live  in  the  valley  but  no  one 
could  forget  that  his  house  —  vast,  dominating,  ugly  — 
had  been  the  first  upon  the  mountain  side.  To  Mildred 
Carver  who  stood  looking  down  the  mist  lined  valley, 
the  roofs  of  these  newer  houses  were  as  familiar  as  the 
dark  woods  that  stood  along  the  hills,  or  the  roads  shin 
ing  white  in  the  blurred  moonlight,  —  as  familiar  even 
as  the  lad  who  followed  her  through  the  window  and 
over  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda. 

Mildred  had  seen  Nicholas  Van  Arsdale  every  day 
during  the  summer  that  was  just  fading;  every  day  of 
the  summer  before,  and  of  the  summer  before  that;  and 
every  summer  as  far  back  in  her  eighteen  years  as  she 
could  remember.  The  Van  Arsdale  cottage  had  been 
built  just  over  the  shoulder  of  the  hill  soon  after  the  last 
inconsequent  lightning  rod  was  set  on  the  tower  of  Wil 
liam  Carver's  mansion.  Memories  of  Nick  at  every 
height  from  three  feet  to  five  feet  nine;  in  every  stage 


2  MILDRED   CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

of  growth  from  small  boy  stubbiness  to  slender,  narrow- 
footed,  brown  youth;  in  every  costume  from  kilts  to  the 
smartest  of  adult  attire,  were  hung  thick  in  Mildred's 
mental  gallery. 

Up  to  this  year  their  friendship  had  been  a  happily 
commonplace  affair,  but  now  inexplicable  things  were 
continually  happening  between  them.  A  year  ago  they 
would  have  spent  the  evening  chattering  with  Ruthie  and 
Junior  or  playing  billiards  or  trying  new  dance  steps  with 
as  many  of  the  family  as  they  could  get  to  join  them, 
instead  of  sitting  together  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room 
talking  very  young  talk  in  tones  pitched  unconsciously 
below  the  ears  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carver  —  talk  broken 
by  disconcerting  silences  which  neither  of  them  knew 
how  to  fill.  A  year  ago  it  wouldn't  have  occurred  to 
Mildred  suddenly  that  the  big  living  room  "glared"  and 
that  she  must  get  out  of  it  into  something  shadowy  and 
dim,  —  it  wouldn't  have  occurred  to  Nick  that  to  follow 
her  to  the  veranda  edge  was  something  overwhelmingly 
important  and  a  very  special  privilege. 

They  stood  together  now  —  this  boy  and  girl  —  above 
the  pulsating  valley.  They  were  not  thinking  much,  nor 
were  they  conscious  of  any  particular  feeling.  The 
Katydids  were  calling  back  and  forth  below  them ;  a 
belated  whip-poor-will  had  been  wakened  into  complaint 
by  the  moonlight;  way  off  somewhere  a  hunting  owl 
cried  lonesomely.  There  was  menace  in  the  mist  creep 
ing  up  from  the  valley  and  Nick  edged  closer  to  Mildred 
—  in  spite  of  the  great  house  full  of  servants  she  seemed 
suddenly  to  need  protection.  She  leaned  out  into  the 
moonlight  and  Nick  felt  a  faint  prickling  of  the  spine. 
What  had  happened  to  make  her  so  different?  He  knew 
her  well,  he  had  known  her  all  his  life  —  and  yet  she  was 
utterly  strange ! 


MILDRED   CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  3 

A  harsh  regular  noise  troubled  Nick  which,  after  such 
thought  as  he  was  capable  of,  he  discovered  to  be  the 
sound  of  his  own  breath  rushing  in  and  out.  He  was 
unable  to  think  out  this  strange  phenomenon  because  the 
fragrance  floating  up  from  a  bed  of  late  tuberoses 
troubled  him.  He  could  almost  taste  the  perfume !  And 
then  the  iridescent  mist  billowing  up  and  down  in  the 
moonlight  made  him  feel  dizzy.  He  wasn't  conscious  of 
wanting  to  say  or  do  anything,  of  having  any  impulses 
or  intentions,  but  he  heard  his  voice,  very  hoarse  and 
hard,  saying: 

"Mildred,  are  you  cold  ?" 

As  the  girl  turned  her  head  to  answer,  the  moonlight 
swept  across  her  hair  in  tiny  rainbows  and  before  Nick 
knew  what  he  was  doing,  his  arms  flung  themselves 
around  her  and  he  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"Nick!"  she  cried  softly,  "Nick  — oh,  Nick!"  and 
struggled  a  little. 

And  then  her  arms,  quite  on  their  own  initiative,  lifted 
and  went  round  his  neck  and  she  raised  her  lips  again; 
and  the  little  mist  of  pearl  which  had  been  slowly  climb 
ing  up  through  the  valley  drowning  out  the  tree  trunks 
till  the  leaves  seemed  floating  in  a  silver  sea,  overflowed 
the  veranda  edge  and  blotted  out  the  young  lovers. 


CHAPTER    II 

L\TE  that  night  Mildred  sat  up  in  bed  holding 
both  hands  close  against  her  hot  cheeks.  She 
had  set  her  trembling  lips  and  kept  her  eyelids 
down  while  Henriette  brushed  out  her  long  blond  hair 
and  braided  it  afresh;  she  had  dipped  in  and  out  of  her 
great  white  tub  in  a  daze,  and  let  the  maid  pull  the  light 
covers  over  her  and  switch  off  the  light  almost  in  silence. 
But  when  the  door  had  shut  softly,  she  sat  up  with  a 
start,  and  now  she  held  her  flushed  cheeks  in  her  hot 
hands  and  looked  into  the  dark  with  smiling  lips  and  soft 
wide  eyes  that  saw  visions. 

It  hadn't  felt  the  same  —  oh,  not  at  all  the  same !  - 
as  the  time  she  had  sprained  her  ankle  and  he  had  carried 
her  up  from  the  boat  house.  No,  this  was  quite  differ 
ent  and  much,  much  nicer.  She  had  been  too  surprised 
and  excited  out  there  on  the  veranda  to  feel  as  happy  as 
she  really  was.  To  marry  Nick !  Well,  why  not  ?  Only 
she  had  never  thought  of  it  before.  Her  cheeks  were 
cooling  now  and  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  knees. 
She  could  see  the  mist  settling  down  into  the  valley 
again,  shimmering  like  mother  of  pearl  with  the  tree 
tops  sticking  through.  Yes,  of  course  she  was  going  to 
marry  Nick  —  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world!  A  half  submerged  tree  out  there  in  the  moon 
light  looked  like  a  giant  horse  struggling  through  a 
river  —  a  warrior's  horse  carrying  a  knight  of  the  Round 
Table.  How  she  used  to  imagine  herself  a  lady  out  of 
the  Idylls  of  the  King  —  Elaine  usually,  only  it  was 
always  Sir  Gareth  she  dreamed  about,  contrary  to  the 


MILDRED   CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  5 

precedent  of  the  poem!  It  might  be  Sir  Gareth  on  just 
such  a  charger  as  the  tree  seemed  to  be !  And  then  her 
power  of  picturing  showed  her  Nick  on  Sheridan  II;  a 
slim,  straight  figure  in  London  riding  clothes  and  the 
trimmest  of  boots  on  a  delicate  footed  bay  with  nothing 
nearer  the  caparisoning  of  the  jousts  than  a  light  bridle 
and  the  merest  suggestion  of  a  saddle.  Nick  was  a  good 
rider  but  he  was  not  in  the  least  like  Sir  Gareth,  and  he 
preferred  his  motor  to  all  the  horses  that  ever  galloped 
over  a  thousand  hills.  But  of  course  she  couldn't  expect 
Sir  Gareth  —  there  weren't  any  men  like  that  now.  Yes, 
she  and  Nick  would  be  married.  She  wondered  idly 
whether  they  would  live  here  or  at  the  Van  Arsdale 
house.  Nick's  mother  was  dead,  so  probably  they  would 
go  there.  It  didn't  seem  to  matter  much. 

The  mist  had  sunk  further  into  the  valley,  and  the 
charger  plunging  through  the  silver  stream  turned  out 
to  be  nothing  but  a  quite  ordinary  oak  tree  that  almost 
always  had  wormy  acorns  —  they'd  talked  of  cutting  it 
down !  Everybody  expected  her  to  marry  —  usually 
girls  married  soon  after  they  were  presented  to  society  - 
most  of  her  cousins  had.  Only  of  course  there  was 
Lucile  —  she  hadn't  married.  But  then  she  had  gone 
into  the  Red  Cross  during  the  war  and  been  in  France 
in  a  hospital.  It  was  more  interesting  to  hear  her  tell 
about  it  than  anything  —  for  all  she  had  heard  it  so  many 
times.  Why  even  Aunt  Millicent  was  proud  of  her  — 
and  usually  Aunt  Millicent  wanted  everybody  to  be  ex 
actly  like  everybody  else.  And  there  was  Agnes,  —  she 
had  married  a  man  that  nobody  knew.  He  taught  some 
thing  somewhere,  and  she  had  heard  her  aunts  say  that 
of  course  they  must  remember  that  Agnes'  mouth  wasn't 
good  and  she  stooped  —  and  involuntarily  Mildred 
squared  her  shoulders. 


6  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

She  looked  through  the  window  again.  The  moon 
had  set  and  a  careless  sort  of  a  wind  had  driven  all  the 
silver  mist  out  of  the  valley.  But  there  was  a  dull  glow 
over  the  hill !  It  must  be  a  fire !  She  got  out  of  bed  and 
ran  to  the  window.  It  was  a  fire,  she  could  see  the 
flames!  It  looked  like  the  new  house  the  Arnolds  had 
built.  And  then  came  the  clang  and  rush  of  the  fire 
engines  and  at  quick  intervals  the  lights  of  motor  cars 
which  she  knew  were  carrying  the  boys  of  the  Universal 
Service  up  to  help  fight  the  fire.  A  motor  started  in  the 
lower  drive  below  the  house  and  the  light  sped  away 
through  the  trees.  It  sounded  like  Nick's  little  grey 
racer  but  of  course  it  couldn't  be. 

Mildred's  cheeks  were  quite  cool  now  and  her  new 
emotion  had  run  down  like  a  clock.  She  went  back  to 
bed  and  pulled  up  the  covers.  Certainly  there  wasn't 
any  reason  why  she  should  lie  awake  because  she  was 
going  to  marry  Nick!  And  throwing  her  blond  braid 
back  on  the  pillow  and  tucking  her  hand  under  her  cheek 
she  went  placidly  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER    III 

NICHOLAS  VAN  ARSDALE,  in  a  state  of 
serene  unconsciousness,  had  stepped  from  the 
Carver's  veranda  into  the  encircling  mist  and 
begun  to  feel  his  way  down  the  path.  To  listen  to  his 
pounding  heart  beats  absorbed  all  his  conscious  atten 
tion  but  he  instinctively  followed  the  descending  road  to 
the  lower  drive  where  he  bumped  into  a  standing  automo 
bile.  Walking  around  this  in  a  beatific  trance  he  felt  his 
way  onward  still  with  the  feel  of  Mildred's  lips  on  his. 
What  a  wonderful  thing  to  have  happened!  If  anybody 
had  told  him  even  this  morning  that  he  was  in  love  with 
Mildred  he  would  have  said  —  no,  he  was  not  —  and 
here  he  had  been  all  the  time  and  no  more  knowing  it  than 
if  there'd  be  rain  next  week ! 

So  this  was  being  in  love !  Nick  was  eighteen,  which 
seemed  to  him  a  great  number  of  years  in  which  never  to 
have  been  in  love  before.  Well,  it  was  a  great  idea  — 
being  in  love  —  he  had  that  to  say  for  it  at  the  start.  Of 
course,  when  he  had  thought  of  what  it  would  be  like,  he 
had  had  a  picture  of  a  sort  of  Spanish  girl  with  a  lace 
thing  on  her  head  —  singing  or  dancing  or  something 
like  that.  Great  black  eyes,  you  know,  and  short  high- 
heeled  slippers  like  the  girls  on  the  stage.  But  now  it 
was  Mildred!  And  he  had  been  in  love  with  her  with 
out  knowing  it  at  all !  It  wasn't  a  bit  like  what  he'd 
expected,  but  they'd  be  married  and  do  everything  to 
gether  just  as  they  always  had  —  only  it  would  all  be 
different,  of  course  —  being  married.  And  he  thought 

7 


8  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

of  his  father  and  how  he'd  probably  give  her  all  the  jew 
els  his  mother  had  had.  Nick  had  sometimes  imagined 
it  would  be  fun  to  give  these  things  to  a  little  Cinderella 
sort  of  girl  who  had  never  had  anything  pretty  —  but  of 
course  Mildred  was  nicer  than  anybody  else  could  be  — 
only  it  had  been  pleasant  to  think  of  that  little  Spanish 
Cinderella !  Well,  when  they  were  married  — 

Nick  interrupted  himself  by  coming  out  on  a  knoll  and 
noticing  that  the  mist  was  driving  out  of  the  valley  and 
that  over  toward  the  upper  end  of  the  Park  a  red  glow 
was  striking  up  into  the  sky.  As  he  stopped  to  watch 
it,  came  the  clang  of  the  fire  engines  rushing  up  from  the 
village  below.  Nick  knew  that  the  Universal  Service 
boys  stationed  in  Torexo  must  be  tumbling  into  their 
clothes  and  getting  their  cars  out  to  follow.  They 
always  got  a  chance  to  help  in  any  sort  of  emergency 
duty,  even  if  their  regular  work  was  keeping  the  roads  in 
order  and  distributing  the  mail  and  dull  things  like  that. 
But  fires  were  rare  in  Torexo.  He  didn't  want  to  miss 
this  one  even  if  he  wasn't  in  the  Service.  He'd  get  his 
car,  —  and  then  he  remembered  that  he'd  gone  to  the 
Carver's  house  in  his  motor.  Why,  that  must  have  been 
it  he  bumped  into  in  the  lower  drive !  He  stopped  short 
in  sudden  realization  of  the  fact  that  he  hadn't  known  his 
own  car  when  he  saw  it  —  hadn't  remembered  that  there 
was  such  a  thing  in  the  world ! 

"  Well  I  should  say  I  am  in  love!  "  he  cried  aloud  and 
turning  ran  back  through  the  clearing  air. 

If  Mildred  and  he  could  go  together  on  this  adventure ! 
He  peered  up  at  her  windows  but  there  was  no  stir.  The 
whole  house  was  dark.  A  flood  of  emotion  engulfed 
him  —  Mildred !  He  loved  her  and  she  loved  him  —  it 
was  the  greatest  thing  in  the  world!  Why,  she  was 
probably  thinking  about  him  at  this  very  minute ! 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  9 

He  sprang  into  the  car  and  was  about  to  start  the  en 
gine  when  he  heard  quick  steps  running  down  the  road 
from  the  house.  Could  it  by  any  possibility  be  Mildred  ? 
He  waited,  his  hand  on  the  lever.  They  were  strong 
footsteps  beating  a  rapid  tremolo  on  the  hard  road. 
Somebody  was  making  good  time.  Nick's  lamps  threw 
a  steady  white  river  before  him  and  the  invisible  runner 
blurred  the  foot  beats  together  in  a  final  burst  of  speed 
and  plunged  into  the  light.  It  was  Wicks,  one  of  the 
Carver's  young  footmen! 

Nick  straightened  from  the  wheel  in  disappointment. 
He  had  been  sure  it  must  be  Mildred  because  he  wanted 
her  to  come. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  Mr.  Nicholas,  sir!  "  the  man  gasped. 
"  I  saw  the  headlight  and  I  thought  I  might  catch  it,  sir. 
If  the  fire's  in  the  woods  I  might  help.  I  did  my  service 
in  the  Forestry  and  learned  about  fire  fighting  out  west. 
Are  you  going  to  it,  sir?  " 

"  Yes,  jump  in,  Wicks." 

They  struck  down  into  the  valley.  The  mist  was  all 
gone  now  and  they  followed  clear  roads  in  the  soft  dark 
after  moonset  and  rushed  on  toward  the  mounting 
flames. 

"  I  didn't  know  you'd  been  in  the  Service,  Wicks. 
What  did  you  do?" 

"  It  was  two  years  ago,  Mr.  Nicholas.  I  didn't  choose 
what  I'd  like  to  do  so  they  put  me  in  the  Forestry.  I 
cleared  out  the  dead  bushes  and  trees,  sir,  and  the  gang 
boss'd  tell  me  how  to  girdle  a  tree  that  ought  to  come 
down,  and  we  got  more  kinds  of  bugs  and  worms  that 
eats  trees  than  you'd  know  there  was,  and  sent  'em  to 
Washington.  We  done  a  lot  of  work  trying  to  find  out 
what  was  killing  the  chestnuts,  and  planting  other  kinds 
—  specially  from  China  —  to  see  if  they'd  get  the  blight." 


10  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"Did  they  get  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,  my  year  was  up  before  they  fo 
out.     But  when  I'm  off  duty  at  the  house  I  go  into 
woods  here  and  see  if  there's  anything  more  I  can 
out  about  them.     I  sent  a  new  kind  of  fungus  up  to 
Department  last  week." 

Nick's  lips  formed  themselves  into  a  silent  whistli 
he  forced  his  car  up  a  steep  grade. 

'  You  seem  to  have  liked  the  Service." 

"You  bet!" 

Nick  grinned.  It  tickled  his  taste  to  find  that 
man  whom  he  had  thought  merely  a  uniformed  har 
of  plates  and  opener  of  doors,  was  an  indepem 
citizen  collecting  destructive  fungi  for  the  governm 
the  possible  discoverer  of  the  cure  for  the  chestnut  bli 
which  had  so  distressed  his  father  and  the  other  resid 
of  Torexo  Park. 

"If  you  like  it  so  much  why  did  you  come  back 
be  a  footman?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  it  isn't  that  I  want  to.  I'd  have  give  ; 
thing  to  have  gone  into  the  Forestry  regular.  But 
mother,  she's  in  New  York  and  she  couldn't  make 
without  me  another  year.  You  see  I  wouldn't  be 
ting  anything  for  my  first  year  in  the  Forestry  but 
keep  and  twenty  a  month.  But  some  time  I'm  going  1 
to  it,  you  bet." 

Nick  shot  the  car  furiously  up  under  the  road- 
trees  and  they  tumbled  out  and  ran  toward  the  bun 
house. 

It  was  a  modern  house  trying  to  look  as  though  it  \ 
old.  Artificially  and  needlessly  it  straggled  along 
ground  pretending  that  it  had  been  added  to  ell  b) 
through  the  generations  instead  of  having  been  buili 
at  once  by  an  expensive  and  fashionable  architect. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  11 

trees  overhung  the  low  gables  in  an  affectionate  ancestral 
way  carefully  induced  by  a  landscape  gardener,  and  close 
back  of  it  rose  a  great  white  pine.  Wicks,  dashing  on 
ahead  of  Nick,  groaned  as  he  saw  the  sparks  flying  to 
ward  this  tree.  They  were  both  stopped  by  a  lad  in 
khaki  uniform  who  ordered  them  back,  but  Wicks  cried 
out: 

"  I'm  Forestry  Service  —  two  years  back  —  fought  a 
lot  of  fires  —  better  let  me  help." 

The  Service  lad  relaxed. 

"  Sure  we  need  you !  There's  the  captain  —  report 
to  him." 

Nick  tried  to  follow  Wicks  but  the  Service  boy  swung 
out  before  him. 

"  See  here,  young  feller,  you  get  back  to  the  line  — 
see!" 

"Confound  you  —  I'm  going  to  help  —  let  me  by!" 

''  You  ever  been  in  the  Service  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,  but  I  can  carry  Mrs.  Arnold's  chairs 
and  tables  out  of  that  house  as  well  as  the  rest  of  you. 
You  let  me  by !  " 

The  Service  boy  —  Nick  recognized  him  as  a  young 
westerner  who  assisted  in  the  Torexo  Post  Office  — 
kept  crowding  him  back  and  the  dispute  threatened  to 
become  a  personal  conflict  when  Nick  felt  his  arm  caught 
and  turning  saw  his  father,  who,  having  been  roused 
from  his  reading,  had  come  up  the  hill  on  foot. 

"  Hullo,  son,  how  did  you  get  here  ?  I  thought  you 
were  dining  with  Mrs.  Carver?  " 

At  the  memory,  the  boy  caught  his  breath.  Mildred 
had  been  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  and  he 
had  never  dreamed  of  being  in  love  with  her!  But  he 
was  able  to  answer  his  father  steadily  enough : 

"  I  was  there,  sir,  but  I  saw  the  fire  and  came  in  my 
car." 


12  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Pretty  good  work  these  young  men  are  doing. 
They're  getting  a  lot  of  the  furniture  out  but  I  don't 
think  they  can  save  the  house.  Pity  if  the  fire  gets  those 
pines !  " 

"  O,  Lord,  I  wish  they'd  let  me  help !  I  could  carry 
rugs  as  well  as  they  can!  What's  the  use  of  their  keep 
ing  me  out  because  they're  in  the  Service?  It  isn't  fair! 
No,  I'm  not  going  to  butt  in  "  (this  to  the  young  west 
erner).  ''Don't  you  dare  wave  your  hand  at  me  again, 
though!  I'm  as  big  as  you  are  if  you  are  nineteen  and 
I  won't  stand  it !  " 

Mr.  Van  Arsdale  laughed  and  caught  him  by  the  arm 
again. 

"  Here,  you  young  hot  head  —  your  turn  will  come 
next  year !  " 

The  crowd  of  neighbors  swayed  back  and  forth  in  the 
light  of  the  burning  house.  Some  of  them  tried  to 
comfort  Mrs.  Arnold  who  sat  on  a  little  hillock  crying 
and  clutching  her  wide-eyed  children;  for  even  if  you  are 
rich  enough  to  own  an  imitation  ancestral  home,  and 
socially  important  enough  to  have  it  set  in  Torexo  Park, 
you  do  have  an  occasional  human  feeling;  and  while  your 
control  over  your  tear  ducts  is  probably  greater  than  that 
of  ordinary  mortals,  it  is  still  not  absolute.  It  was  sur 
prising  how  many  more  people  there  were  in  Torexo  than 
Nick  knew  —  and  yet  his  father  entertained  everybody 
at  dinner  at  least  once  during  the  summer!  He  began 
to  recognize  faces  here  and  there  which  he  had  only  seen 
before  under  maids'  caps  or  above  servants'  uniforms. 
His  talk  with  Wicks  had  somewhat  widened  the  popula 
tion  of  the  place.  It  now  included  servants!  The 
people  were  in  all  sorts  of  haphazard  costumes,  but 
blended  into  harmony  by  the  setting  and  the  light  of  the 
fire  like  the  peasant  chorus  in  an  opera.  Here  and  there 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  13 

some  one  would  stand  out  from  the  chorus  like  a  "  prin 
cipal  "  and  Nick  noticed  that  it  was  just  as  likely  to  be 
somebody's  chauffeur  as  "  somebody  "  himself. 

Nick  ranged  round  the  edges  of  the  crowd  trying  again 
and  again  to  break  into  the  ranks  of  the  fire  fighters  and 
being  repulsed  with  increasing  hauteur  by  the  uniformed 
Service  boys  —  lads  whom  he  ordinarily  disregarded 
because  they  were  different  from  himself ;  as  he  had  dis 
regarded  the  boys  who  went  to  the  public  schools,  instead 
of  having  tutors  or  going  to  Groton;  boys  who  had  bicy 
cles  instead  of  automobiles;  boys  who  worked  in  stores 
or  offices  instead  of  playing  polo.  Now  these  boys  in 
the  Service  were  disregarding  him  because  they  worked 
and  he  didn't! 

Nick  and  his  father  stayed  till  the  house  had  been 
mostly  reduced  to  red  coals.  Mr.  Van  Arsdale  would 
have  been  glad  to  go  earlier  but  he  stayed  to  restrain  his 
son,  whose  ideas  of  authority  as  vested  in  any  one  but 
himself  were  purely  rudimentary.  When  at  last  Nick 
was  content  to  go,  the  older  man  sighed  in  relief.  This 
only  child  of  his  was  most  particularly  dear,  but  life  for 
him  had  settled  down  into  an  easy  routine  which  he  re 
sented  having  disturbed  —  the  routine  of  generations  of 
rich  scholars  whose  investments,  providently  made  in  the 
previous  century,  had  gone  on  increasing  automatically 
in  value  so  that  they  could  pursue  learning  entirely  for  its 
own  sake. 

"  I  guess  I  better  take  Wicks  home  too,"  Nick  re 
marked  absently  as  they  reached  his  automobile. 

"Who's  Wicks?" 

"  He's  the  Carvers'  footman.  I  brought  him  up  with 
me." 

"Well,  can't  he  get  back  by  himself?     It's  not  far." 

"  But  you  see,  sir,  he's  been  in  the  Service  —  in  the 


14  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Forestry  —  and  he's  been  fighting  the  fire.  They  let 
him! " 

Nick  ran  back  for  Wicks  and  his  father  sat  in  the 
motor  wondering.  Did  a  footman's  having  been  in  the 
Universal  Service  make  him  any  less  a  footman?  Put 
any  more  obligation  on  Nick  to  drive  him  back  in  his  car  ? 
Make  it  necessary  for  himself,  Henry  Van  Arsdale,  to 
wait  when  he  was  anxious  to  get  to  bed  ? 

"  Wicks  is  going  to  stay,"  said  Nick,  reappearing. 
"  He's  out  there  where  the  wind's  blowing  too,  watching 
to  put  out  sparks.  He  says  he  wouldn't  feel  right  to  go 
when  there's  a  chance  of  a  forest  fire  getting  started.  He 
thinks  it's  up  to  him  because  he  worked  for  the  United 
States  for  a  year." 

And  Mr.  Van  Arsdale  wondered  again  at  the  attitude 
of  the  footman  toward  the  country  and  of  his  son  toward 
the  footman. 

Nick's  little  gray  racer  slid  down  into  the  dark  of  the 
valley,  the  headlight  picking  out  one  tree  after  another 
in  autumn  red  or  brown  or  deceptive  spring-like  green. 
The  boy  was  still  railing  at  not  having  been  allowed  to 
help  at  the  fire  and  wholly  occupied  with  his  rebuff  by  the 
Service  men.  The  connection  between  his  mind  and  the 
event  on  the  veranda  seemed  broken. 

"  Wait  till  next  year,  though  —  then  I'll  be  in  it  my 
self —  then  they  can't  keep  me  out  just  because  I'm  not 
in  uniform.  Just  wait  till  next  year!  " 

But  suddenly  the  boy  jammed  in  the  brake  and  brought 
the  car  to  a  stop  with  a  jolt  that  nearly  disemboweled  it 
and  almost  threw  his  father  out. 

"  Dad,"  he  whispered,  turning  a  white  face  to  his 
father.  "  Dad,  I  can't  go  into  the  Service  —  I'd  for 
gotten  —  Mildred  and  I  are  going  to  be  married." 

The  elder  man  recovered  himself  a  little  testily.  Vio 
lence  did  not  appeal  to  him. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  15 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  nearly  breaking  my  neck 
like  this?" 

"  Mildred  and  I  are  going  to  be  married !  " 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  Everybody  always  supposed  you 
would  be." 

"  But  I  can't  go  into  the  Service  then." 

The  older  man  looked  his  son  over  speculatively. 

"  It  looks  to  me  as  though  you've  forgotten  that  you've 
got  to  go  into  the  Service  whether  you  want  to  or  not. 
They  don't  ask  you  whether  you're  going  to  be  married, 
or  vaccinated  or  graduated  or  anything  else  —  they  ask 
you  if  you're  eighteen  years  old  and  if  you  are  you  have 
to  go.  In  your  normal  frame  of  mind  you  know  this  as 
well  as  I  do.  Mildred  has  got  to  go  into  the  Service  too. 
And  you  ought  to  know,  if  you  don't,  that  the  law  doesn't 
recognize  any  marriage  between  people  who  haven't 
served  their  year." 

Nick  drummed  impatiently  on  the  steering  wheel. 

"  But  I'm  going  to  marry  Mildred." 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  objection  to  your  marrying 
Mildred.  She's  a  fine  girl  with  a  good  little  brain  of  her 
own,  and  she  wouldn't  be  marrying  you  for  the  money. 
I  imagine  everybody  would  be  pleased  about  it.  But  the 
Universal  Service  isn't  a  thing  you  can  dodge,  my  son. 
Every  excuse  that  can  possibly  be  thought  of  has  been 
tried  already  and  unless  you  are  physically  disabled  or 
mentally  deficient  —  and  I'm  proud  to  say  you're  neither 
—  you've  the  choice  of  going  into  the  Service  or  going 
into  jail,  and  incidentally  losing  your  citizenship,  and  so 
has  Mildred.  Don't  be  a  fool,  Nick." 

"  But,  dad  —  Mildred  —  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  this 
evening!  " 

'  That's  all  right  —  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world!  But  after  all,  Nick,  though  I  believe  in  early 


16      *       MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

marriages,  eighteen  is  a  bit  too  young  even  from  my 
standpoint,  and  I  think  Frank  and  Mary  Carver  will  agree 
with  me.  I'm  glad  Mildred  is  willing  to  marry  you.  It 
greatly  diminishes  the  chance  of  your  making  a  fool  of 
yourself  over  some  one  you  couldn't  marry  —  but  I'll  not 
aid  or  abet  any  son  of  mine  in  being  a  slacker.  If  I 
remember  the  date,  both  you  and  my  future  daughter-in- 
law  —  bless  the  dear  child !  —  will  be  drafted  in  about 
six  weeks." 

Nick  started  his  car  again  and  drove  home  in  absolute 
silence.  His  mind  was  oscillating  between  thoughts  of 
Mildred  —  so  wonderful  as  he  found  her  under  this  new 
emotion  —  and  thoughts  of  the  Service  which  he  had  so 
passionately  desired  back  there  at  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MILDRED  would  have  been  glad  to  oversleep 
the  next  morning  but  that  was  not  a  thing 
countenanced  by  her  mother.  Mrs.  Carver 
was  busily  engaged  in  training  her  daughter  in  the  vir 
tues  of  princesses  which  seem  to  be  much  the  same 
whether  these  fortunate  young  persons  have  titles  and 
live  in  Europe  or  merely  have  breeding,  birth  and  fortune 
and  live  in  America.  So  in  spite  of  her  new  conscious 
ness  of  importance  as  a  girl  who  had  given  her  promise 
of  marriage  and  so  settled  her  life  in  its  preordained 
channel,  Mildred  came  to  the  family  table  at  the  usual 
time,  ate  just  as  hearty  a  breakfast  as  usual,  put  just  as 
much  cream  on  her  dish  of  late  peaches  and  showed  just 
as  fundamental  an  objection  to  oatmeal  as  she  usually 
did. 

Mildred  watched  her  mother,  serene  and  trim  as  one 
who  is  about  to  attack  competently  the  country  routine 
of  consulting  her  housekeeper,  surveying  her  gardens  and 
instructing  her  secretary.  Mrs.  Carver  was  physically 
no  great  contrast  to  her  eldest  daughter,  a  little  darker, 
a  little  less  tall  and  slender,  just  a  trifle  less  differenti 
ated  from  the  dead  level  of  the  race,  as  being  one  joint 
further  back  on  the  parent  stem.  Mildred  wondered  if 
her  mother  would  be  surprised  to  know  she  was  going  to 
marry  Nick.  What  would  her  father  think?  He  was 
a  silent  man,  tall,  blonde  and,  to  the  eye,  English.  A 
shade  finer  than  his  wife  in  the  details  of  culture,  but 
c  17 


18  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

very  like  her  in  type.     Mildred  looked  like  both  her  par 
ents  without  any  conflict  of  features. 

Mr.  Carver  was  just  finishing  his  eggs  in  the  imper 
turbability  born  of  the  conscious  ability  to  follow  the  com 
mand  of  taking  no  thought  of  what  he  should  eat  or  what 
he  should  put  on  when  Wicks  came  in  with  the  morning 
letters  on  a  tray,  a  function  which  he  performed  in  the 
country,  Waddell  the  butler  being  left  in  charge  of  the 
New  York  house.  There  was  a  pile  of  letters  for  her 
mother,  a  few  for  her  father,  two  for  her  mother's  sec 
retary,  Miss  Price,  a  Wellesley  girl,  one  for  Junior's 
tutor,  Mr.  Harmine.  After  all  these  had  been  laid  be 
side  the  plates,  Wicks  came  back  around  the  table,  stopped 
for  an  appreciable  moment  behind  her  chair,  and  then 
with  a  hand  that  was  not  as  steady  as  the  hand  of  the  per 
fect  footman  should  be,  put  beside  her  a  large  square 
envelope,  redirected  from  New  York,  and  marked  in  the 
upper  left-hand  corner : 

Department  of  Universal  Service 
Washington,  D.  C. 

Mildred  took  the  envelope  uncomprehendingly  and 
opened  it.  A  stiff  printed  announcement,  —  large,  for 
midable,  —  summoning  her,  Mildred  Carver,  by  the 
authority  of  the  President  and  Congress  of  the  United 
States,  as  she  was  eighteen  years  old  to  enter  the  National 
Service  on  the  first  day  of  October  and  to  remain  in  it 
for  twelve  months  thereafter.  She  was  to  indicate  on 
the  inclosed  blanks  the  division  of  the  Service  she  pre 
ferred,  and  be  ready  for  departure  when  she  was  notified. 
It  was  signed  by  the  Secretary  of  Universal  Service. 

Mildred  looked  up  after  what  seemed  to  her  a  long, 
long  interval.  Her  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  the  painting 
by  Constable  over  the  old  oak  sideboard  —  a  scene  of 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  19 

assured  and  stable  peace,  sad-colored  trees  that  had  never 
swung  in  any  breeze,  still  cows  immovable  for  all  time 
on  the  eternally  sere  grass !  They  dropped  to  the  great 
silver  urn  below  it  and  its  rich  flanking  of  serving  dishes, 
shifted  to  the  fluttering  silk  curtains,  woven  and  dyed  to 
suit  the  room;  to  the  old  carved  chairs  brought  from 
Holland,  and  the  sunlight  sifting  over  the  rich  colors  of 
the  old  rug  brought  from  Persia,  and  in  all  the  costliness 
of  her  surroundings  Mildred  found  no  help.  And  her 
father  and  mother  were  reading  their  letters  as  carelessly 
as  though  nothing  had  happened!  Ruthie  and  Junior 
were  disputing  as  to  whose  turn  it  was  to  use  the  tennis 
court !  And  here  was  this  thing  in  her  hand !  The  only 
difference  was  her  consciousness  that  Wicks  still  stood 
behind  her  chair.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him  with 
such  frightened,  entreating  eyes  that  the  footman  leaned 
forward  instantly. 

"  Yes,  miss.  Can  I  get  you  anything,  miss  ?  "  and  then 
very  low,  "  It  won't  be  so  bad  as  you're  afraid  of,  miss, 
—  believe  me,"  and  drew  her  chair  back  as  she  rose. 

With  this  first  stone  in  the  pathway  of  true  love  con 
cealed  in  the  pocket  of  her  sport  skirt,  Mildred  waited  all 
the  morning  for  Nick.  But  Nick  wasn't  in  the  habit  of 
coming  to  the  house  in  the  forenoon  and  he  didn't  now  — 
even  in  the  young  of  the  established  classes  habits  form 
early  and  are  hard  to  break.  He  didn't  come  in  the  early 
afternoon  either  because  his  Universal  Service  order  had 
been  in  the  same  mail  with  Mildred's  and  his  father  and 
he  had  been  thrashing  out  the  matter  —  backward,  for 
ward  and  criss-cross.  Mr.  Van  Arsdale  found  that  the 
old  Dutch  tenacity  was  not  all  dead  in  his  line  when  he 
tried  to  adjust  his  beloved  son  and  heir  to  an  absolute 
command  of  which  he  didn't  see  the  use.  So  that  when 
Nick  did  appear  in  the  Carver  house  not  only  was  it  late 


20  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

in  the  day,  but  every  cell  in  his  brain  and  every  nerve  in 
his  body  was  set  in  resistance.  He  had  caught  the  spent 
bullet  of  his  last  night's  emotion  as  a  little  ball  of  leaden 
obstinacy,  and  came  marching  up  the  steps  like  a  defiant 
young  Dutch  burgher. 

Wicks,  an  expressionless  footman  again,  instead  of  a 
fire  fighter,  led  him  to  the  library  where  tea  was  set,  and 
was  still  in  the  doorway  as  he  walked  straight  to  Frank 
Carver,  serenely  dividing  his  attention  between  a  cup  of 
tea,  a  cigar  and  an  English  magazine,  and  asked  in  all 
seriousness  for  Mildred's  hand. 

It  was  a  startling  thing  to  happen  in  a  modern  house 
hold.  The  footman  stood  gaping;  Frank  dropped  his 
cigar  into  his  tea  while  his  wife  came  quickly  across  to 
him.  Mildred,  aghast,  felt  herself  set  back  into  the  line  of 
past  generations,  as  though  all  the  successive  births,  mar 
riages,  and  deaths  of  all  the  successive  generations  of  the 
Carvers,  like  the  cycle  of  an  insect's  life  from  worm  to 
cocoon  to  butterfly  to  worm  again,  were  an  inevitable 
chain  that  bound  her.  And  yet  according  to  all  the  ro 
mance  of  her  academic  reading  this  was  exactly  the 
proper  thing  for  Nick  to  do.  As  Mildred  looked  at  her 
parents  it  struck  her  that  they  didn't  seem  so  very  much 
surprised  after  all.  Was  it  just  what  they  had  expected 
of  her  then? 

But  her  father  was  drawing  her  down  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair  and  saying  exactly  what  she  ought  to  have 
expected  —  exactly  what  she  did  expect  down  in  the 
subconscious  part  of  her  that  determined  things  by  feel 
ing  because  it  hadn't  yet  learned  to  think.  Her  father, 
with  her  mother  to  back  him  up,  told  them  that  they 
were  very  young  —  a  fact  that  Mildred  could  see  Nick 
resenting  as  bitterly  as  she  did ;  that  they  hadn't  had  any 
experience,  which  they  refused  to  admit;  and  that  they 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  21 

hadn't  done  their  year  in  the  Universal  Service,  which 
hadn't  struck  either  of  them  as  important  until  the  arrival 
of  the  government  orders  that  day.  They  must  wait  at 
least  a  year  for  any  sort  of  an  engagement.  In  the  mean 
time  they  were  expected  to  be  just  good  friends  as  they 
had  always  been.  No,  there  wasn't  any  objection  to  Nick 
—  he  was  a  dear  boy.  If  they  wanted  to  talk  of  it 
when  they  were  older  —  but  in  the  meantime  — 

And  so  Mildred  and  Nick  went  out  on  the  veranda 
again  and  vowed  to  each  other  that  they  would  wait  if 
they  must  —  an  inescapable  Service  and  non-understand 
ing  parents  interposing  temporarily  insuperable  objec 
tions. 

In  the  six  weeks  before  they  were  called  to  the  Service 
they  tried  hard  to  make  an  adventure  of  their  clandestine 
engagement,  —  and  every  member  of  the  household 
helped  them. 

"  Henriette !  Henriette !  "  Wicks  called  frantically 
from  the  servants'  door,  "  Whadda  ya  want  to  go  that 
way  for?  Didn't  you  see  Miss  Mildred  going  down  that 
path  after  lunch  was  through?  Ah,  come  back,  girl  — 
have  a  heart !  " 

"Weeks,  the  manners  of  a  gentleman  you  have  not! 
Is  it  you  cannot  observe  Mr.  Nicholas  behind  the  foun 
tain?  Till  you  remove  from  the  door,  can  he  approach 
the  tea  house  where  Ma'mzelle  remains  ?  I  ask  you  as  a 
gentleman?  " 

The  contrite  Wicks  hastily  followed  the  observing 
Henriette  out  of  sight  —  and  if  they  turned  to  see 
through  the  curtain  again,  shall  any  one  blame  them  ? 

Mildred  would  drift  languidly  out  of  the  breakfast 
room  and  vanish  with  obtrusive  carelessness  down  the 
rhododendron  path  and  there  would  be  Nick  waiting  for 
her  at  the  seat  by  the  spring.  She  always  went  to  these 


22  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

meetings  in  high  expectation.  Did  she  not  know  from 
books  exactly  how  she  ought  to  feel  ?  And  since  she  had 
a  well  trained  imagination  she  took  it  for  granted  that 
she  really  did  feel  as  she  thought  she  ought,  although 
when  actually  with  him  in  the  sentimental  role  of  a  be 
loved  object,  there  was  nothing  to  talk  of  and  little  to  do. 

And  the  unexpected  monotony  of  being  surreptitiously 
engaged  to  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world  so  got  on  Nick's 
nerves  that  he  became  daily  more  attentive  and  loverlike 
lest  Mildred  should  suspect  his  moments  of  ennui  —  so 
very  affectionate  in  fact  that  she  was  eaten  with  self- 
reproach  at  being  unable  to  rise  to  his  pitch.  And  when 
in  a  fit  of  desperation  he  rushed  down  to  New  York  and 
bought  her  a  ring  set  with  a  pink  pearl,  she  cried  as  much 
in  disappointment  at  her  own  lack  of  emotional  exaltation 
as  with  pleasure  at  the  lovely  symbol.  It  was  a  hard, 
bewildering  time  for  them  both.  There  were  no  gaps  of 
knowledge  or  experience  or  circumstance  for  their  talk  to 
bridge;  even  in  years  they  were  too  equal  to  strike  fire. 
They  thought  alike,  they  had  done  the  same  things,  they 
knew  the  same  people,  and  now  they  had  concerned  them 
selves  in  the  same  love  affair!  Why,  they  might  have 
been  married  twenty  years !  But  of  course  even  if  their 
engagement  did  need  considerable  prodding  to  come  up 
to  expectations,  their  marriage  would  make  up  for  it. 
Their  only  new  interest  was  to  go  over  the  lists  labeled : 
"  Open  to  recruits  from  cities  of  500,000  inhabitants  and 
over,"  and  decide  which  should  be  their  first,  second  and 
third  choice.  It  was  something  which  lent  substance  to 
the  rather  attenuated  unrealities  of  their  love  affair. 

"  You  see,  Mildred,"  said  Nick  rather  dolefully,  "  the 
work  that  is  open  to  us  is  mostly  in  the  country  or  at  least 
in  the  very  small  towns.  There's  work  in  the  post  offices 
in  all  the  cross  roads ;  and  there's  road  making  and  trans- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  23 

portation  —  I  suppose  that  would  be  fixing  tracks  and 
sweeping  cars  and  entrancing  things  like  that  —  and  for 
estry  and  agriculture  and  mines  and  all  this  column  of 
queer  things  like  geodetics  and  hydrostatics,  that  I  don't 
know  about,  —  and  of  course  there's  the  army  and  navy 
and  nursing  —  but  none  of  it  smiles  much  to  me.  Arthur 
Wintermute  told  me  he  registered  for  aviation.  I  don't 
see  how  he  could  run  an  aeroplane  —  he's  never  done  a 
thing  in  his  life.  He  never  goes  anywhere  without  that 
valet,  Mapes,  tagging  along.  I  guess  he  thinks  Mapes 
can  run  the  plane  for  him." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mildred  slowly,  "  what  it  would  be 
like  to  really  work  —  to  have  to  do  something  whether 
you  wanted  to  or  not." 

"  Like  nothing  we  know  anything  of,"  commented 
Nick  shrewdly,  looking  speculatively  about. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  south  veranda  —  a  long  plane 
sweeping  past  rows  of  windows  and  around  the  bulging 
circle  of  the  billiard  room.  Each  chair  had  been  set  in 
its  proper  place,  each  cushion  plumped,  each  rug  straight 
ened  that  day  —  but  not  by  them.  Before  either  of  them 
was  awake  the  steps  had  been  washed  —  by  some  one  else. 
Some  one  else  was  rolling  the  tennis  court  over  by  the 
road  for  them  to  play  on ;  some  one  else  was  bringing  veg 
etables  up  from  the  garden  for  them  to  eat.  Nick's  car, 
cleaned  and  polished  by  some  one  else,  stood  in  the  drive. 
Beside  Mildred  stood  a  tea  table  set  with  a  service  of  sil 
ver,  and  it  was  not  necessary  for  them  even  to  pour  their 
own  tea  for  Wicks  hovered  in  the  offing  to  do  it  if  re 
quired.  Certainly  work  was  not  one  of  the  things  they 
knew  anything  about. 

"  Even  if  we  chose  the  same  thing  we  wouldn't  be 
together,"  said  Mildred  rather  wistfully;  "they  always 
send  the  boys  and  girls  on  different  trains.  Why,  Alice 
West  never  saw  any  one  she  knew  the  whole  year !  " 


24  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  What  did  Alice  choose?  " 

"  She  couldn't  decide  so  they  put  her  into  one  of  those 
botanical  experiment  stations  and  she  spent  most  of  her 
time  taking  care  of  new  sorts  of  beans  and  peas,  measur 
ing  the  water  she  gave  them  and  keeping  the  temperature 
just  right  and  feeding  them  a  lot  of  different  stuff  to  see 
what  would  happen.  She  told  me  she  was  a  sort  of  plant 
nurse.  She  liked  it  a  lot  though,  and  Tommy  West  told 
me  she  was  going  to  some  college  to  learn  about  plant 
chemistry  —  only  her  mother  doesn't  want  her  to." 

Nick's  finger  was  traveling  down  the  column  specu- 
latively. 

"  I'd  hate  to  work  on  a  railroad  or  sort  letters  in  a  post 
office.  I  suppose  in  the  Forestry  you'd  nurse  the  trees 
the  way  Alice  West  did  the  beans  and  peas.  No  —  now 
that  I  think  of  it,  Wicks  told  me  what  you  do  in  that  — 
say,  Wicks,"  he  called,  "  come  and  tell  us  about  the  For 
estry  Service." 

The  footman  was  much  embarrassed.  It  is  one  thing 
to  talk  to  a  young  gentleman,  man  to  man,  when  you  are 
going  to  a  fire  with  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
quite  another  to  stand  in  your  distinguishing  but  not  hon 
orable  uniform  and  tell  a  lovely  young  girl  whom  you 
serve,  and  her  quite  obviously  accepted  lover  about  the 
greatest  year  in  your  life  —  and  that  so  small  a  thing  com 
pared  with  what  they  may  expect  for  themselves!  But 
after  a  moment  Wicks  forgot  himself  in  telling  what  it 
meant  for  him  to  be  living  with  boys  who  had  come  from 
every  other  part  of  the  country  —  to  have  been  given  the 
sort  of  academic  training  he  could  have  got  in  no  other 
way  —  training  in  the  structure  of  trees,  in  the  cell  the 
ory  of  growth,  in  the  lives  of  insects  and  their  habits. 

"  Why,  I  just  got  to  see  how  it  was  the  world  was  goin' 
on  —  trees  and  insecs  and  the  way  the  rocks  happened, 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  25 

too.  You  can't  never  feel  the  same  about  anything 
again." 

And  the  thing  that  the  footman  didn't  say  in  words, 
but  which  was  implied  in  every  syllable  —  and  he  became 
very  much  less  of  a  footman  as  he  did  it  —  was  the  great 
difference  it  made  for  him  not  to  be  working  for  any  one 
individual  but  for  everybody  together. 

"  Uncle  Sam's  a  great  old  boss,"  he  said. 

When  Wicks  had  become  the  footman  again  and  car 
ried  away  their  tea,  Nick  went  on  studying  the  blanks 
discontentedly. 

"If  they'd  let  me  run  an  automobile  I'd  like  it  well 
enough  —  if  the  roads  were  decent."  Then  he  stopped 
suddenly.  "  I  might  do  that !  " 

"Do  what?"  " 

"  Road  making  —  it's  got  something  to  do  with  auto 
mobiles  anyway." 

"Oh,  Nick!" 

"  Well,  I  would  like  to  know  about  them  —  why  they 
wear  out  and  everything,  and  from  what  Wicks  says  I 
guess  they'd  teach  me  that." 

"  But  road  making,  Nick !  " 

"  Well,  Mildred,  I've  got  to  choose  something,  you 
know." 

They  argued  the  matter  for  days  and  got  more  fun 
being  together  because  they  had  something  new  to  talk 
about.  They  could  set  their  teeth  into  the  fact  that  they 
had  to  go  into  the  Service  whether  they  wanted  to  or  not. 
And  just  at  the  last  moment  when  the  blanks  had  to  be 
returned  to  the  government,  Nick  did  make  road  making 
his  first  choice  and  Mildred  registered  for  agriculture. 


CHAPTER  V 

MILDRED  stood  before  the  dressing  table  in  her 
New  York  home  fingering  the  government 
order  for  her  departure.  Wicks  had  already 
carried  her  bag  down  to  the  motor  and  Henriette  stood 
patiently  holding  out  her  traveling  coat.  But  Mildred 
was  quite  deaf  to  the  low  voices  of  her  assembled  kins 
folk  floating  up  from  the  lower  hall,  or  to  the  rattle  and 
whirr  of  the  motor  trucks  hurrying  back  and  forth  on  the 
north  side  of  Washington  Square.  She  knew  it  was  time 
to  start  but  she  was  fully  occupied  in  trying  to  wink  the 
tears  out  of  her  eyes  and  swallow  the  choke  out  of  her 
voice  before  she  faced  her  relatives.  It  was  with  a  vis 
ible  effort  that  she  raised  her  firm  little  chin  and  let  Hen 
riette  lay  the  coat  over  her  shoulders. 

She  stopped  again  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  with  her  hand 
on  the  long,  curving  mahogany  rail  and  looked  down.  If 
she  had  merely  been  going  to  China  these  relatives 
wouldn't  have  been  here  to  bid  her  good-by  —  this,  she 
knew,  was  much  more  special.  She  got  a  sudden  com 
posite  impression  as  though  she  saw  them  in  perspective 
for  the  first  time.  They  had  always  been  distinct  indi 
viduals  to  her  before,  —  Aunt  Millicent,  tall,  stately  and 
a  little  ponderous,  as  one  who  entertains  princes  has  a 
right  to  be,  Great-Uncle  Andrew  Carver,  thin  and  droopy 
as  to  mustache  and  shoulders  but  with  an  inevitable  sar 
torial  perf ectness ;  Winthrop,  who  had  served  in  the  army 
in  France  and  carried  himself  straight  and  square  in  spite 
of  his  limp ;  David  and  Lucille,  who  had  been  working  in 

26 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  27 

a  field  hospital;  beautiful  married  cousins  in  their  thirties, 
whose  dinner  tables  were  eminences  to  be  longed  after 
hopelessly  by  generations  of  the  children  of  the  New- 
rich;  stately  men  cousins  who  took  their  wealth  as  a 
means  to  a  serene  life  and  only  made  excursions  into  the 
business  world  as  one  might  visit  the  realm  of  an  African 
king  —  Mildred  saw  them  for  the  first  time  combined,  a 
race  of  tall,  straight,  clear-eyed  people  developed  through 
generations  of  wealth  and  culture  out  of  the  primitive 
Anglo-Saxon  race  stuff.  They  were  dressed  with  the 
costly  simplicity  that  is  quite  indifferent  to  fashion  or  dis 
play,  and  they  had  the  simple  ways  of  those  who  have 
never  had  to  consider  such  taken-for-granted  things  as 
manners.  They  did  not  ask  if  their  ways  were  the  best 
ways  of  living  and  thinking  and  passing  through  the 
world  —  that  went  as  an  axiom.  Socially  and  financially 
they  were  a  powerful  group  which,  having  been  started 
right  in  the  way  of  investments,  bodies,  and  minds,  a 
century  or  so  back,  had  been  so  protected  by  a  specially 
developed  environment,  that  they  had  had  little  need  for 
readjustment  since.  By  the  fact  that  she  was  going  to 
work  Mildred  felt  herself  almost  as  much  outside  the 
family  as  Wicks  waiting  immobile  to  open  the  door  for 
her. 

And  the  Carvers'  family  looking  up,  were  also  aware 
that  Mildred  was  set  apart  from  them.  Hitherto  she  had 
been  merely  "  Frank's  oldest  girl,"  now  she  was  the  first 
woman  of  their  line  to  go  to  work.  Her  family  saw  her 
as  a  slender  girl  with  direct  blue  eyes  under  dark  brows 
that  contrasted  sharply  with  her  light  hair,  a  soft  full 
little  mouth  and  a  short  high  nose.  She  might  have  been 
an  English  girl,  so  specialized  was  her  type,  so  adapted 
to  a  life  where  physical  exertion  was  a  matter  of  sport, 
not  money  earning;  to  a  life  where  financial  security  was 


28  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

not  bought  by  cleverness  or  quick  thinking,  or  work,  but 
was  an  inherited  attribute;  a  life  which  made  no  special 
personal  demands  beyond  that  of  conforming  to  the  group 
standards.  And  she  looked  like  most  of  her  relatives,  as 
though  the  same  heredity  and  environment  had  produced 
the  same  result  in  all  of  them.  The  Carvers  were  alike, 
they  liked  themselves,  they  usually  married  people  of  their 
own  type. 

The  Carvers  saw  Mildred  as  a  family  product  as  inev 
itable  as  the  blossom  on  a  lily,  but  set  subtly  away  by 
herself.  How  would  this  flower  bear  transplanting? 
Fundamental  changes  were  foreign  to  the  family  habit. 
The  Carvers  did  not  even  follow  the  fashions  in  material 
things  —  much  less  in  mental  furnishings.  They  had 
not  been  drawn  out  of  Washington  Square  with  the  re 
ceding  tide  of  fashion.  They  did  not  need  to  depend  on 
the  cachet  of  neighborhoods  or  costly  houses.  Finan 
cially  and  socially  they  were  secure.  A  Carver  might  do 
as  he  liked.  What  did  it  matter  to  them  that  the  tene 
ments  crawled  up  toward  the  Square?  They  hardly 
noticed  the  stream  of  Italian  immigrants  that  flowed  out 
of  Macdougal  Street  on  bright  afternoons  or  the  studios 
of  incoming  artists  that  filled  the  south  side  of  the 
Square.  They  did  not  even  protest  against  that  last 
brand  of  a  fallen  neighborhood  —  the  establishment  of 
a  Social  Settlement  to  uplift  it.  They  felt  themselves 
quite  detached  from  personal  responsibility  outside  the 
line  of  their  blood  kin.  What  more  could  possibly  be 
expected  of  them  by  the  community  than  that  their  pink 
magnolias  bloomed  richly  every  spring,  that  their  window 
boxes  were  set  early,  and  the  close  clinging  vines  on  the 
front  of  their  houses  trimmed  to  advantage  ? 

Mildred  ran  swiftly  down  the  long  staircase  and  they 
closed  up  around  her  with  all  sorts  of  fluttering  bits  of 
consolation. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  29 

"  I  haven't  a  doubt  you'll  find  some  things  about  it  very 
interesting  —  just  like  being  in  Egypt  or  the  Argentine." 

"  Poor  dear,  it's  a  shame !  I  shan't  vote  for  this  ad 
ministration  again !  " 

'  They  certainly  ought  to  use  some  discrimination  in 
the  people  they  conscript.  It's  absurd  to  make  Mildred 
work  just  as  though  Frank  weren't  willing  to  make  any 
sort  of  a  contribution  instead." 

"  Do  be  careful,  my  dear,  and  not  overdo.  Try  not 
to  break  down  your  health." 

"  But  you'll  soon  be  back,  my  dear,"  cried  one  of  her 
aunts.  "  Don't  take  it  so  hard !  You'll  forget  that  it 
ever  happened." 

And  the  family  chorus  echoed : 

"  You'll  forget  that  it  ever  happened !  "  as  she  passed 
through  the  door. 

As  the  Carver  motor  drew  up  at  the  Grand  Central 
Station  Nicholas  Van  Arsdale  pushed  up  to  it  in  a  state 
of  solemnity  not  normal  to  him. 

"  I  hoped,"  he  cried  nervously,  "  that  you'd  miss  the 
train  so  I  could  rush  Mildred  after  it  in  the  racer  —  got 
it  around  the  corner  on  purpose." 

"  Hullo,  Nick,"  said  Mildred,  trying  to  look  uncon 
cerned  and  dabbing  her  eyes. 

As  they  entered  the  depot,  the  great  iron  gates  slid 
open,  an  officer  shouted,  and  scores  of  girls  of  eighteen 
began  to  separate  themselves  from  the  crowd  and  move 
toward  the  train.  They  were  of  every  race,  every  com 
plexion,  every  degree  of  prosperity  to  be  found  in  New 
York  City.  Mrs.  Carver  caught  her  hand  to  her  lips  as 
she  saw  them.  And  as  for  the  parents  —  the  good 
burghers  of  Hamelin  must  have  looked  so,  yes  and  have 
lamented  so,  too,  when  the  Pied  Piper  led  their  darlings 
away. 


30  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  You'd  better  let  me  go  with  Mildred  to  the  gate," 
suggested  Nick.  "  There's  no  reason  why  you  should 
get  into  that  crowd,  Mrs.  Carver." 

Frank  Carver  caught  his  daughter  to  him  with  almost 
a  sob.  It  was  against  every  tradition  and  feeling  that 
he  should  let  her  face  an  unsoftened  world. 

Nick,  reaching  to  take  Mildred's  bag  from  the  foot 
man,  found  Wicks  staring  straight  at  his  young  mistress. 

"  I  hope  you'll  like  the  Service  as  much  as  I  did,  miss," 
he  said,  with  his  hand  to  his  cap. 

Mildred  turned  startled. 

'  Thank  you,  Wicks,"  she  said,  looking  into  the  pleas 
ant  eyes  of  the  footman,  and  then  after  a  moment  holding 
out  her  hand,  grateful  for  her  first  greeting  from  a  fel 
low  servant. 

But  Nick  looked  at  the  man  with  dropped  jaw.  Not 
that  there  was  any  fault  to  be  found  with  him,  or  with 
his  salutation,  but  it  somehow  startled  him  as  though  a 
wall  had  fallen  down.  He  caught  Mildred  by  the  arm 
and  pushed  on  toward  the  gate. 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  only  going  now  instead  of  next  week !  " 
he  said. 

He  flung  a  protecting  arm  around  her  shoulders  as 
though  he  could  not  bear  to  have  the  motley  crowd  press 
against  her,  and  as  they  moved  forward,  he  whispered : 

"  Only  a  year  and  we'll  both  be  back  again  —  only  a 
year  to  wait!  " 

And  at  the  gate,  quite  oblivious  to  the  self-restraint 
customary  to  a  Van  Arsdale  in  the  presence  of  the  popu 
lace,  he  kissed  her  softly  and  let  her  go. 


CHAPTER   VI 

"T"  WISH,"  said  Aunt  Millicent,  very  reproachfully, 
to  the  younger  members  of  her  family  whom  she 

A.  blamed  with  the  present  subversive  state  of  the 
government,  "  I  wish  it  had  been  her  wedding!  " 

"  Why  ?  "  inquired  her  nephew  David  with  apparent 
naivete. 

"  Why  ?  In  spite  of  the  way  you  excuse  all  these 
new  things,  David  —  and  just  because  they're  new 
usually  —  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  girls  like  Mil 
dred  are  brought  up  to  be  married.  The  pass  things  are 
getting  to!  I'm  always  relieved  when  one  of  our  girls 
is  suitably  disposed  of !  I  had  believed  that  when  Henry 
Van  Arsdale  and  his  boy  took  to  spending  all  their  sum 
mers  at  Torexo,  something  would  come  of  it !  And  now 
look  at  this  absurd  Service !  " 

"  Now,  why  shouldn't  she  have  a  chance  to  work  ? 
Lucille  liked  her  work  in  the  Red  Cross !  I  seem  to  re 
member  that  she  preferred  it  to  playing  about  with  her 
set." 

"  That's  patriotic  service  —  it's  entirely  different." 

Winthrop  Carver,  another  of  her  nephews,  joined  the 
defence. 

"  Well,  isn't  the  Universal  Service  patriotic,  Aunt  Mil 
licent?" 

"What!  Being  a  telephone  girl  or  something  like 
that?  It's  nothing  but  a  scheme  of  some  of  those  Social 
ists." 

Winthrop,  considering  his  aunt  thoughtfully,  was 

31 


32  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

silent.  She  was  magnificently  indestructible  in  an  un 
changeable  world.  He  had  joined  the  Officers'  Reserve 
Corps  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  had  been  wounded  and 
sent  to  a  hospital  in  France,  and  then  back  to  the  front 
till  the  finish;  but  he  couldn't  face  his  aunt  in  an  argu 
ment. 

"Come  on,  Dave  —  let's  walk  up,"  he  said  to  his 
cousin. 

As  the  two  went  down  the  steps,  pretty  Anne  Weston, 
a  cousin  who  married  into  Standard  Oil  —  "  and  quite 
unnecessarily  too,"  Aunt  Millicent  had  said  —  called  to 
them  and  beckoned  her  chauffeur : 

"  Ought  you  to  walk  —  with  your  leg?  " 

"  Oh,  I  get  over  the  ground  all  right.  I  can  even 
dance,  and  David  will  tell  you  it  ought  to  be  exercised." 

David  nodded  and  laughed.  The  war  had  caught  him 
when  he  hadn't  been  out  of  college  long  enough  to  have 
settled  into  any  of  the  dilettante  occupations  —  sport, 
exploration  or  travel,  —  that  usually  attracted  the  Car 
vers.  He  had  enlisted  in  one  of  the  first  hospital  units  and 
served  as  an  orderly,  carrying  stretchers,  making  beds, 
scrubbing  floors ;  a  beast  of  burden  with  a  brain  that  grad 
ually  got  to  working  on  the  problems  of  hospital  organiza 
tion,  and  which,  in  the  terrible  depletion  of  the  staff  under 
disease,  overwork  and  occasional  shell  fire,  had  raised 
him  to  the  position  of  unofficial  manager  and  filled  him 
with  such  pride  as  neither  his  family,  his  fortune  nor 
his  Phi  Beta  Kappa  pin  had  ever  raised  in  him  before. 
The  managerial  ability  with  which  the  first  David  Carver 
had  organized  the  trade  with  the  "  out  islanders  "  in 
spices  and  precious  woods,  awoke  in  his  descendant,  and 
David  passed  the  latter  part  of  the  war  getting  the  biggest 
result  out  of  the  intermittent  supplies,  the  insufficient 
hospital  helpers,  the  problematical  food,  under  conditions 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  33 

of  heartbreaking  overcrowding  and  overwork.  There 
were  times  when  he  himself  had  done  the  cooking  with 
no  other  culinary  training  than  a  knowledge  of  the  way 
things  ought  to  taste  when  they  were  done;  and  other 
times  when  he  administered  an  anaesthetic  with  his  heart 
jumping  as  high  as  his  collar  bone  lest  he  give  the  victim 
too  much.  The  harassed  hospital  unit  had  learned  that  it 
could  always  rely  on  David  and  had  put  burdens  on  him 
accordingly,  but  long  generations  of  sufficient  feeding, 
without  overwork  and  with  the  most  careful  protection 
from  disease,  had  developed  a  reserve  force  which  stead 
ied  him  through  the  terrific  strain. 

The  two  young  men  swung  out  of  the  Square  — 
straight  young  males  of  the  Carver  breed,  keen  eyed  and 
observant  as  though  the  unusual  things  that  the  general 
keying  up  of  the  nation  had  required  of  them  had  de 
veloped  all  sorts  of  latent  cutting  edges. 

"  Uncle  David  said  you  were  going  into  the  mill  at 
Northfield  —  what's  the  idea  ?  "  Winthrop  asked  his 
cousin  as  they  fell  into  step. 

"  Oh,  Ames,  who  was  head  of  it  for  twenty  years,  died 
a  while  back,  and  there's  no  one  in  line  for  his  place." 

"  Going  to  manage  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  try  it  out.  Cotton  cloth  is  one  of  the 
things  that  need  to  be  made." 

"What  does  your  father  say?" 

David  grinned. 

"  He  doesn't  understand  it  at  all.  He  thinks  the  only 
object  of  business  is  to  make  money  and  he  knows  I  don't 
need  to  go  into  it  for  that." 

At  the  corner  of  Ninth  Street  and  Fifth  Avenue,  Win 
throp  looked  up  at  the  old  brick  house  with  its  Gothic 
windows. 

"  Don't  you  remember  seeing  Mark  Twain  come  out 
D 


34  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

of  this  house?  He  used  to  go  plodding  up  the  Avenue 
as  though  it  were  a  country  road.  I  saw  him  try  to  cross 
right  in  the  face  of  the  traffic  once,  like  a  perfectly  irre 
sponsible  child  all  dressed  up  for  company  in  his  white 
suit.  A  policeman  jerked  him  out  just  in  time  and  as  he 
set  him  very  carefully  down  on  the  pavement  I  heard  him 
say,  '  We  can't  afford  to  lose  you  yet  awhile.'  Somewhere 
he  wrote  that  the  man  who  saw  that  his  country's  politi 
cal  clothes 'were  worn  out  and  didn't  agitate  for  a  new 
suit  was  a  traitor!  Well,  we're  wearing  the  new  politi 
cal  suit  he  wanted  right  now  and  I'd  like  to  know  if  he'd 
be  satisfied  with  the  fit.  If  he  were  alive  I  think  I'd  go 
up  those  steps  and  ask  him." 

"  It  takes  a  war  or  a  humorist  to  do  anything  with  us 
humans  when  we  reach  a  fixed  type,  doesn't  it?  " 

They  went  tramping  on  up  the  Avenue.  After  a 
silence  David  said : 

"  It  was  pretty  hard  on  Aunt  Mary  and  Uncle  Frank 
-  having  Mildred  go.  They  didn't  look  exactly  happy." 

Winthrop  looked  very  grave,  for  he  had  a  young  sis 
ter  who  would  go  into  the  Service  in  two  years  more. 

"  Quite  a  family  ceremony  they  made  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  Rather  like  a  confirmation  or  a  graduation  or  an  en 
gagement  —  and  when  you  come  to  think  of  it  it  was  a 
little  like  them  all." 

"  Speaking  of  engagements,"  said  David,  "  didn't  we 
hear  some  unofficial  talk  about  Mildred  and  the  Van 
Arsdale  boy?  I've  a  notion  there's  an  understanding  in 
the  family  about  it." 

"  I  suppose  so !  Isn't  it  just  the  sort  of  thing  that 
would  suit  the  aunts  down  to  the  last  shoe  button !  But 
I'm  sorry  for  those  two  kids.  It  isn't  fair  for  the  family 
to  take  a  clear  case  of  puppy  love  and  force  a  marriage 
out  of  it,  no  matter  how  suitable  it  may  seem  to  them." 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  35 

"  Well,  the  boy  wasn't  there  today,  anyhow,  so  perhaps 
there  isn't  anything  in  it,  and  they  may  have  a  chance  to 
grow  up  first.  They  may  be  quite  different  people  after 
a  year  of  work.  I'm  curious  to  know  what  the  Service 
will  do  to  a  girl  like  Mildred." 

As  they  tramped  on  up  the  Avenue  the  traffic  tied  itself 
into  knots  and  then  miraculously  untied  itself  again.  The 
great  green  busses  lumbered  past  with  their  fresh  faced 
young  conductors  in  the  uniform  of  the  Universal  Serv 
ice,  country  boys  getting  their  first  taste  of  city  life  under 
government  control.  A  young  letter  carrier  stopped  and 
puzzled  at  the  address  on  an  envelope.  Just  as  they 
were  passing  he  looked  up  imploringly  and  asked : 

"  Can  either  of  you-all  gentlemen  make  out  this  lady's 
name  f  oh  me  ?  Ah'm  not  ahcustomed  to  all  the  languages 
you-all  have  in  New  York  City." 

David  looked  at  the  envelope. 

"  It's  Carvaretti  —  Italian.  She's  probably  in  that 
office  building  on  the  corner." 

"  Ah'm  obliged  to  you,  suh.  I  saw  by  the  way  you-all 
was  walkin'  that  you'd  been  in  the  ahmy  an'  I  knew  I 
could  ahsk  any  gentleman  in  the  Service." 

"  Sounds  like  a  Virginian  accent,"  Winthrop  com 
mented  as  they  went  on.  "  Now,  what's  happening  in 
Prince  Edward  and  Anne  Arundel  counties  when  all  the 
boys  and  girls  go  back  there  after  having  spent  a  year 
with  people  who  haven't  any  grandfathers,  and  having 
done  a  lot  of  work  not,  in  their  code,  to  be  expected  of  a 
lady  or  gentleman?  I  imagine  it  will  alter  the  atmo 
sphere  of  the  dear  Southland  very  perceptibly." 

"  And  won't  a  lot  of  Seattle  and  Tacoma  youngsters 
sent  down  there  for  a  year  stir  the  place  up  like  an  egg 
beater?" 

Fifth  Avenue  was  peppered  here  and  there  with  the 


36  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

various  Service  uniforms  —  dodging  in  and  out  of  tele 
graph  stations,  riding  on  the  hurrying  trucks  of  the  gov 
ernment  express  and  mail  wagons,  pushing  about  scrapers 
in  the  streets,  doing  all  the  bits  of  unskilled  labor  that  a 
community  does  for  itself  through  its  government.  The 
work  they  were  doing  was  in  itself  essential  but  with  no 
future  of  advancement  or  development  in  it.  But  it  was 
no  longer  done  by  the  old  and  decrepit  for  whom  it  was 
the  last  strand  in  the  fraying  rope  of  independence,  nor 
by  the  inefficient  or  discouraged  middle-aged  who  had 
been  crowded  into  it  without  hope  of  escape,  nor  by  the 
unfortunate  young  forced  into  it  by  the  immediate  need 
to  earn  money  and  finding  it  a  blind  alley  in  which  they 
were  trapped  —  but  by  well  fed,  well  cared  for  young 
people  to  whom  it  was  nothing  more  than  a  training 
school.  And  yet  both  Winthrop  and  David  realized  that 
it  was  out  of  those  terrible  red  miles  that  the  world  had 
marched  to  victory  in  France,  that  this  new  Service  of 
peace  which  was  filling  Fifth  Avenue  had  come  —  as  a 
consequence  of  that  terrible  upheaval  that  the  ideal  that 
all  work  could  be  a  national  service  had  begun  to  be  real 
ized. 

North  of  Twenty-Third  Street  the  flood  of  garment- 
workers,  their  day's  work  done,  bore  down  upon  the  two 
men.  There  were  literally  tens  of  thousands  of  them, 
filling  the  walks  in  a  moving  mass,  overflowing  into  the 
streets  when  the  traffic  permitted,  tramping  steadily 
south  with  toes  pointed  too  sharply  out  and  feet  clinging 
flatly  to  the  pavement.  As  a  race  they  were  as  thor 
oughly  differentiated  as  the  Carver  family.  But  it  was 
a  different  specialization.  Instead  of  being  tall  and  clear- 
skinned  from  generations  of  full  feeding,  care  and  pro 
tection,  they  were  undersized,  sallow  and  stooping  from 
generations  of  poverty  that  meant  low  feeding  and  the 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  37 

grinding  indoor  toil  of  the  landless.  Where  the  Carver 
family  were  direct  and  slow  in  thought  and  speech  because 
their  survival  did  not  depend  on  quickness  or  cleverness, 
the  garment  workers  were  verbally  subtle  and  mentally 
swift  because  of  the  long  generations  when  success,  even 
life  itself,  had  depended  on  quickness  and  subtlety.  To 
these  thousands  of  garment-makers,  work  was  nothing 
better  than  a  hard  necessity.  From  the  time  they  had 
stood  at  their  mothers'  knees  to  pull  bastings,  when  they 
rose  to  be  machine  operators,  pressers,  cutters,  getting 
good  wages  and  then  down  the  other  side  of  the  hill  back 
to  the  bastings  again  and  finally  working  in  dim  shadowy 
shops  making  over  second-hand  clothes,  their  object  in 
working  had  been  to  make  money  to  live.  There  was  no 
thought  of  cutting  and  sewing  and  pressing  because  to 
make  clothes  was  a  public  service.  They  had  not  had  any 
training  in  democracy  except  to  cast  the  ballot  —  and  that 
was  no  more  than  the  elder  members  of  the  Carver  fam 
ily  had  had ! 

There  was  a  striking  absence  of  young  men  in  the  crowd 
or  it  might  have  been  different.  Their  sons  who  had 
spent  a  year  on  railroads,  or  steamers,  or  in  post  offices,  or 
laboratories,  or  public  hospitals,  or  agriculture,  did  not 
look  on  the  job  of  sitting  all  day  driving  parallel  edges 
of  cloth  through  a  power  machine  with  any  degree  of 
favor.  The  adventure  of  serving  the  community  had 
given  them  a  definite  distaste  for  work  which,  so  far  as 
they  could  see,  was  being  carried  on  chiefly  for  the  ad 
vantage  of  some  firm.  They  showed  an  increasing  ten 
dency  to  go  into  industries  that  were  better  organized, 
new  blood  was  not  coming  into  the  garment  trades  and 
the  conditions  were  distinctly  bad. 

But  neither  was  the  new  blood  of  the  younger  gener 
ation  of  Carvers  going  into  the  traditional  avocations 


38  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

of  that  family.  Their  young  men  and  women,  like  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  the  needle  workers,  were  being 
driven  out  of  their  inherited  environments. 

As  Winthrop  and  David  passed  the  Hawarden  Club 
they  saw  their  great-uncle  Andrew  Carver  already  at  the 
window,  his  perfect  hat  on  his  perfect  head,  his  perfect 
but  chromatically  repressed  tie  vanishing  at  exactly  the 
proper  angle  under  his  quietly  distinguished  waistcoat, 
his  pleasantly  quizzical  eyes  fixed  on  them.  Beside  him 
sat  David's  father,  David  Senior,  and  Henry  Van  Ars- 
dale.  The  three  were  often  together.  Old  Andrew  had 
been  fond  of  the  younger  men  when  they  were  small  boys 
in  kilts  running  about  in  the  gardens  at  Torexo,  fond  of 
them  when  their  sons  and  daughters  took  their  turn  in 
the  family  cradles;  he  was  fond  of  them  now  that  the 
time  when  those  cradles  would  be  filled  with  their  grand 
children  could  not  be  far  off. 

"  Why  don't  you  put  those  two  lads  up  for  the  club?  " 
asked  Henry  Van  Arsdale. 

Andrew  Carver,  drumming  absently  on  his  chair  arm, 
nodded  to  the  boys  through  the  window. 

"  Neither  of  the  boys  seems  to  care  about  joining." 

"  What !  "  Henry  Van  Arsdale  turned  to  his  friend  in 
consternation,  "not  want  to  get  into  the  Hawarden?" 

"  I  felt  just  the  way  you  sound  about  it  till  I  had  a  talk 
with  my  son,"  put  in  David  Senior.  "  It's  the  con 
founded  Service  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  —  levels  off  all  the 
things  we  used  to  care  so  much  about." 

"The  Service?  Oh,  come  now!  Plenty  of  young 
men  want  to  get  into  the  club  even  if  our  boys  don't." 

Andrew  turned  to  them  with  a  smile.  "  Have  you 
noticed  the  waiting  list?  "  he  asked  significantly. 

"  Not  recently." 

They    strolled    over   to    the   bulletin   board  —  eleven 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  39 

names !  And  there  used  to  be  a  double  column  of  them 
as  long  as  the  board !  Henry  Van  Arsdale  ran  his  finger 
down  the  list. 

"  Not  one  under  forty  unless  it's  these  two  I  don't 
know." 

"  Well  ?  "  queried  Andrew  as  they  came  back. 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"  They  tell  me  that  the  clubs  where  engineers  and 
chemists  and  such  like  men  belong  are  so  crowded  that 
you  can't  find  room  to  lunch!  " 

It  was  Apperson  Forbes  who  volunteered  the  comment. 
He  was  an  elderly  young  man,  as  sartorially  unexcep 
tionable  as  Andrew  Carver  whose  disciple  he  was.  But 
Apperson  Forbes  had  inherited  the  New  England 
habit  of  developing  bone,  and  his  superlative  clothes  had 
something  the  effect  of  being  hung  on  a  rack.  His  fea 
tures  were  interestingly  blocked  in  with  vertical  and  hori 
zontal  lines  —  straight  up  and  down  nose  and  chin, 
straight  across  mouth,  eyelids  and  brow  —  and  his  hair, 
which  was  more  or  less  limited,  went  up  square  from, 
his  ears  and  across.  Apperson  Forbes  had  a  theory,  on 
which  he  acted  consistently,  that  there  was  no  particular 
advantage  in  being  rich  unless  you  could  have  more  fun 
than  other  people.  Old  Andrew  was  the  only  existing 
Carver  who  appreciated  the  peculiar  variety  of  fun  that 
appealed  to  Apperson  —  and  his  subsequent  frankness 
about  it  —  he  had  a  predilection  for  talking  things  out. 
Did  it  not  increase  the  amusingness  of  life? 

"  I  know  that  David  is  trying  to  get  into  some  club  of 
medical  men  and  hasn't  been  able  to  make  it  yet,"  said 
David  Senior,  as  he  settled  slowly  back  into  his  chair. 
"  And  now  he's  going  into  business." 

"  Oh,  really  ?  I  should  think  he'd  hardly  started  his 
life  yet!" 


40  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

David  Carver  shot  a  look  of  distaste  at  the  unconscious 
Apperson  Forbes  and  Andrew  grinned. 

"  I've  told  my  son,"  David  Senior  continued,  "  that 
there  isn't  any  reason  why  he  should  go  into  business  — 
even  if  the  income  tax  has  been  very  much  increased  all 
the  stocks  are  paying  well  again.  But  he  acted  as  though 
I  was  a  child  he'd  got  to  instruct.  Told  me  that  just 
looking  at  things  didn't  interest  him  any  more.  He  in 
sisted  that  so  far  as  having  one  exciting  thing  happen 
after  another,  nothing  could  seem  dramatic  after  the  war. 
But  he  admitted  that  it  was  going  to  be  more  interesting 
than  anything  ever  was  in  the  world  before,  to  tidy  up 
the  big  mess,  now  the  war's  done,  and  get  the  world  go 
ing  again.  And  he  seemed  to  think  it  was  up  to  him  to 
help  on  that  job  —  to  take  over  the  Northfield  Mill,  spe 
cifically.  It  doesn't  sound  sane  to  me,  but  I  guess  I'm 
growing  old." 

Apperson  Forbes  ran  a  long  rectangular  finger  across 
his  horizontal  lips.  "  What  fun  does  he  think  he'll  get 
out  of  that?  Aren't  there  plenty  of  men  \vith  nothing 
better  to  do  than  work?  Somebody  ought  to  preserve 
the  —  ah  —  taste  for —  ah  —  entertainment.  If  a  man 
feels  he's  got  to  do  something,  politics  is  more  amusing 
than  most  —  here's  Senator  Train  as  an  example  of  that." 

"How  do  you  do,  Senator,"  cried  Old  Andrew,  rous 
ing  himself.  "  How  is  the  life  of  a  statesman  satisfying 
you  these  days  ?  " 

"  Badly.  Politics  isn't  the  leisure  class  occupation  I 
found  it  before  the  war  —  the  younger  generation  keeps 
us  awake.  How  do,  Henry  —  Hullo,  David  —  Why,  I 
was  going  up  the  steps  of  the  Capitol  last  week  and  there 
was  my  Madeline  using  some  sort  of  hydraulic  apparatus 
all  pipes  and  sprays  and  motors,  to  wash  them.  I  didn't 
know  the  girl  had  been  sent  there,  but  she'd  just  been  pro- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  4i 

moted  to  the  District  of  Columbia  Building  Cleaning 
Squad  —  and  very  proud  of  it  too !  Well,  when  that 
young  minx  caught  sight  of  me  she  called  out  that  she'd 
been  told  to  get  everything  off  the  steps  that  didn't  belong 
there  and  turned  a  stream  on  me  that  fairly  washed  me 
off  my  feet.  Fact!  I'd  rescued  my  hat  and  was  just 
getting  up  when  along  came  the  officer  in  charge  and 
started  to  march  her  away  for  misconduct.  Of  course  I 
told  him  she  was  my  daughter,  so  it  was  all  right,  and 
begged  him  to  say  nothing  about  it.  But  he  wouldn't! 
He  said  he  hadn't  any  discretion  in  the  matter  and  that 
he'd  be  severely  reprimanded  if  he  let  it  pass.  Well,  I 
couldn't  let  it  go  at  that,  so  I  went  to  headquarters  and 
explained  who  I  was  —  laid  it  on  so  thick  that  I  was 
ashamed  of  myself,  and  tried  to  get  her  off.  They  in 
vestigated  of  course  —  called  up  everybody  from  the 
man  who  invented  the  hydraulic  cleaner  to  the  ghost  of 
the  architect  who  built  the  steps,  but  there  didn't  seem  to 
be  any  question  about  the  facts,  so  they  stood  by  their 
gang  boss.  Then  I  got  mad  —  told  them  it  was  a  fine 
country  where  a  father  couldn't  do  the  punishing  of  his 
own  daughter  if  she  needed  it  —  told  them  what  I 
thought  about  a  senator  not  having  any  more  influence 
than  the  chief  stair  scrubber  —  I'm  not  sure  I  didn't  try 
to  bribe  everybody  in  sight,  and  the  only  satisfaction  I 
could  get  was  the  answer  that  as  she  wasn't  working  for 
me  but  for  the  United  States  I  had  no  responsibility  in 
the  matter.  So  they  disciplined  her.  But  I  don't  think 
she  minded  it  half  so  much  as  I  did." 

As  soon  as  the  senator  could  make  an  excuse  he  went 
in  search  of  another  group  to  tell  his  story  to.  Henry 
Van  Arsdale  found  himself  wondering  more  and  more 
about  Nick  who  had  been  summoned  for  the  following 
week.  The  boy  had  never  shown  any  alarming  predi- 


42  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

lection  for  work.  Of  course,  he  hadn't  been  encouraged 
in  it,  but  he  didn't  think  he  would  have  any  difficulty  in 
keeping  Nick  in  the  state  of  idleness  to  which  God  seemed 
to  have  called  him.  Did  he  want  to  keep  him  there? 
He  hesitated  a  little.  The  life  he  himself  had  led  was  so 
safe  and  when  Nick  married  Mildred  —  but  would  he 
marry  her  now  ?  A  year  of  separation  at  this  time  might 
stop  it  all  and  with  Nick's  six  weeks'  experience  of  being 
in  love,  and  a  taste  for  it  developed,  what  other  object 
for  his  affections  might  he  not  find  in  a  year !  Oh,  that 
the  Service  \vhich  so  distressingly  multiplied  the  uncer 
tainty  of  the  future,  just  when  it  has  settled  itself  suit 
ably,  had  never  been  established ! 

But  still  the  talk  went  on  around  them. 

"  My  son  has  been  in  the  coast  survey  and  it's  got  the 
young  beggar  so  he's  bound  to  take  up  geodetics  as  a  life 
work." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  my  daughter  is  up  to?  Going 
into  the  advertising  business!  When  she  was  working 
in  a  post  office  in  Utah  she  couldn't  get  a  lot  of  things 
she  wanted  —  they  weren't  there  at  all,  and  she  felt  it  was 
because  they  hadn't  been  properly  advertised." 

"  And  so  she's  going  to  see  that  they're  advertised  so 
as  to  hit  the  bucolic  brain?  " 

"  The  specialized  bucolic  brain  of  the  Utah  mountains 
—  and  because  the  people  ought  to  have  the  things !  " 

There  was  some  laughter,  but  a  lot  of  shamefaced  pride 
was  growing  up  in  these  bewildered  parents. 

And  while  David  Carver  and  Henry  Van  Arsdale 
thought  of  their  sons,  old  Andrew  Carver  saw  a  picture 
of  Mildred  coming  down  the  same  stairs  on  which  he  had 
seen  her  grandmother  so  many  times.  He  saw  her  as 
her  grandmother  had  been,  one  of  the  luxuries  of  life,  an 
ornament,  a  grace,  a  rare  flower  grown  in  the  hothouse 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  43 

of  family  and  tradition,  a  goldfish  in  a  globe  of  wealth. 
He  could  imagine  her  as  she  might  have  been  in  the  sev 
enties,  in  an  open  carriage  with  a  tiny  parasol  to  shade 
her  eyes,  or  in  the  full  skirts  and  great  sleeves  that  came 
later  or  the  little  tight  dresses  of  the  new  century,  and 
always  beautiful  and  smart,  a  lady  in  the  Carver  inter 
pretation  of  the  word,  a  family  product  absolutely  true 
to  type.  But  the  companion  picture  to  this  showed  him 
Mildred  pushed  up  against  the  hard  facts  of  the  world 
that  no  woman  of  their  line  had  been  permitted  to  meet 
for  five  generations,  Mildred  working  just  like  the  girls 
in  the  shops  or  the  offices  or  the  factories,  and  it  filled 
him  with  no  simple  set  of  emotions.  For  Andrew  Car 
ver  had  acquaintances  among  women  in  various  walks 
of  life  and  found  that  other  characteristics  besides  those 
distinctive  of  his  kinswomen  were  also  good.  And 
though  part  of  him  revolted  at  the  thought  of  his  grand- 
niece  being  set  into  the  unspecialized  mass  of  humanity 
that  filled  most  of  the  world,  another  part  of  him  could 
see  that  the  result  might  not  be  wholly  bad.  But  Andrew 
did  not  see  Mildred's  year  in  the  Service  as  anything 
more  significant  than  an  adventure,  an  experience,  as 
Frank  might  have  taken  her  to  Siam  or  taught  her  to  run 
an  aeroplane.  He  had  not  sensed  the  possibility  of  work 
as  a  changer  of  character  though  he  appreciated  the  ef 
fect  of  experience  as  an  addition  to  charm.  And  as  he 
remembered  the  shadow  of  Mildred's  eyelashes  on  her 
smooth  cheek,  the  soft  upcurve  of  her  lips,  the  trim  little 
brown  shoe  vanishing  into  the  motor  as  she  went  away, 
he  concluded  that  the  additional  charm  of  experience  was 
quite  unnecessary.  But  still  Old  Andrew,  half  somno 
lent  in  the  club  window,  recognized  that  while  marriage 
—  and  he  had  heard  Millicent  speak  of  the  Van  Arsdale 
boy  —  would  be  a  safe  solution,  still,  even  girls  seemed 


44  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

to  have  a  taste  for  adventure,  and  it  was  at  least  a  ques 
tion  whether  parents  and  relations  had  the  right  to  pro 
tect  them  against  what  they  might  enjoy  so  much. 


CHAPTER   VII 

MILDRED  CARVER,  climbing  up  the  steps  of 
the  tourist  sleeper,  entered  a  new  world. 
From  the  quiet  serenity  of  the  house  in 
Washington  Square ;  from  her  gracious  soft-voiced  kins 
folk;  from  the  tempered  light  and  the  restrained  colors, 
she  came  into  an  unshaded  glare,  striking  across  bare 
cane  seats  and  uncarpeted  aisles,  and  lighting  the  gay 
inharmonious  clothes  of  the  girls  who  filled  every  seat 
from  door  to  door. 

Mildred's  individuality,  which  she  had  just  begun  to 
be  conscious  of  as  the  Service  detached  her  from  her 
family,  was  submerged  again  when  she  found  herself 
but  one  of  forty  girls  of  eighteen,  in  a  car  which  was 
itself  but  a  single  unit  in  a  train  of  seven  precisely  similar 
cars,  all  filled  with  precisely  similar  girls  going  on  exactly 
the  same  journey  for  the  same  purpose. 

There  was  not  much  talking  in  the  car.  The  girls 
were  all  feeling  the  wrench  of  being  cut  off  from  the 
various  worlds  they  knew,  and  the  people  and  things  they 
loved.  But  as  the  train  hurried  along  the  sense  of  ad 
venture  began  to  wrestle  with  their  homesickness.  Like 
polyps  cut  off  from  the  parent  stem,  they  were  set  drift 
ing  independently  in  the  great  current.  All  the  dreams 
and  trailing  clouds  of  their  childhood  had  brought  them 
to  the  edge  of  this  adventure.  They  were  taking  the 
first  step  toward  what  might  be  the  realization  of  the  old 
golden  dream  of  the  Fairy  Prince  and  the  Magic  Palace 
and  all  the  consequent  little  princelings ;  or  of  the  Career 

45 


46  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

which  must  spell  itself  in  Capitals;  or  of  the  wealth 
which  might  be  variously  interpreted  as  four-rooms-and- 
a-bath  in  Harlem  or  an  estate  on  Long  Island  with 
relays  of  automobiles  and  a  landscape  gardener  imported 
from  Holland  direct. 

For  all  of  them  the  tourist  sleeper  speeding  northward 
was  the  beginning  of  something  and  the  car  fairly  quiv 
ered  with  the  expectation  and  suspense  of  it  all.  Thickly 
beset  with  the  weight  of  adult  existence,  these  rows  of 
commonplace  girls  sat  silently  in  their  seats  and  looked 
furtively  about  to  take  stock  of  their  neighbors. 

"  Say,  ain't  it  fun  going  away  like  this  ?  " 

Mildred  turned  with  a  start  to  the  girl  beside  her. 

"  My  Ma  she  says  it's  ignorant  to  cry  like  the  whole 
family  was  laid  in  their  coffins,  but  I  bet  she's  doin'  it 
herself  yet.  My  Ma,  she's  that  fond  of  me  you  wouldn't 
believe  there's  five  more  she's  got." 

The  girl  straightened  her  too  small  white  hat  with  its 
too  long  black  feather,  pulled  up  the  collar  of  her  bright 
blue  waist  and  dried  her  eyes. 

"  This  I  gotta  say  about  it  anyway,  a  grand  chance  to 
travel  like  we  was  livin'  uptown  we  got." 

She  opened  her  gay  little  bag  and  taking  out  her  mirror 
began  quite  frankly  to  whiten  her  large  nose  and  redden 
her  full  lips. 

"  Some  time  I  guess  we  gotta  keep  traveling?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mildred  slowly,  "  it's  two  days  and  a  night 
to  Minneapolis." 

The  girl  stopped  with  her  powder  puff  in  her  hand  and 
looked  her  over  carefully. 

"  Say,  like  uptown  you  talk  yourself.  Would  you  tell 
me  what  your  name  is  ?  " 

"  Mildred  Carver." 

It  wasn't  an  interpretation  to  the  other  girl.      The 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  47 

Carver  family  antedated  the  newer  holders  of  the  lime 
light  in  the  newspapers  and  she  had  never  heard  of  them. 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you !  My  name's  Miss  Mamie  Ep 
stein.  Say,  ain't  this  like  the  Fourth  Avenue?  I  didn't 
know  it  'ud  be  the  same  as  goin'  home  at  six  o'clock  only 
you  get  a  seat." 

Mamie  flattened  herself  against  the  window  as  they 
crossed  Harlem  River. 

"  Up  here  I'm  going  to  live  myself  sometime.  I'm 
going  to  get  off  the  East  Side." 

And   she   looked  with   envious   determination  at  the 
group  of  mushroom  apartment  buildings  carrying  perma 
nent  painted  signs,  "  FOUR  ROOMS  AND  BATH  - 
ALL  MODERN   IMPROVEMENTS  —  APPLY  TO 
JANITOR." 

"  My  Ma  she  says  I  should  stop  knockin'  Orchard 
Street,  but  she  don't  know,  for  nothing  else  but  Russia 
she  ain't  never  seen.  Say,  over  there  before  they  had 
the  Revolution  it  was  fierce !  If  the  Czar  told  you  a  egg 
was  black  you  dassent  give  him  no  argument.  My  father 
said  so  himself.  But  I  seen  how  it  is  uptown.  My  lady 
friend's  sister  she  married  a  uptown  man.  He  don't 
admit  how  one  should  be  a  wage  slave  and  you  can  be 
lieve  me  or  not,  my  lady  friend's  sister  she's  got  a  whole 
house.  —  I  seen  it  myself.  She  can  talk  refined  like  any 
thing.  Ever  since  I  was  to  see  her,  I  threw  a  hate  on  the 
East  Side.  '  Leah !  '  I  says,  to  my  lady  friend,  '  we 
ain't  got  to  stand  for  no  East  Side  forever.  I  guess 
what  Mary  done  we  can  do.  Cheer  up,'  I  says,  '  there's 
plenty  of  rich  uptown  fellows  left;  their  names  is  in  the 
papers  every  day.'  Ain't  it,  yes  ?  " 

Mildred  Carver  was  shocked.  She  was  a  well  brought 
up  member  of  the  upper  class  where  if  they  didn't  marry 
for  love  they  at  least  put  up  a  consistent  bluff  about  it. 


48  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

She  had  never  dreamed  of  such  conversational  frankness 
as  this.  Much  heralded  heiresses  might  indeed  acquire 
titles  by  way  of  the  altar,  but  then  much  heralded  heir 
esses  weren't  considered  exactly  the  proper  thing  by  the 
Carvers  to  whom  money  was  a  taken- for-granted  posses 
sion  like  two  legs.  To  them  it  seemed  as  vulgar  to  talk 
about  the  fortune  one  of  their  daughters  might  expect, 
as  to  advertise  the  number  of  her  teeth.  Where  every 
body  had  plenty  was  it  not  base  to  marry  for  more? 
With  Nick's  parting  kiss  still  on  her  lips  she  could  not 
excuse  Miss  Mamie  Epstein's  sordid  attitude  toward 
marriage.  Why,  marriage  was  just  because  you  loved 
somebody,  and  that  was  kind  of  a  poem  you  said  over 
and  over  to  yourself  and  never  told  anybody  anything 
about.  Of  course,  merely  being  engaged  was  different! 

Mildred  was  startled  by  a  voice  on  the  other  side.  A 
girl  with  bobbed  hair  and  a  picture  gown  was  leaning 
across  the  aisle  to  her.  Her  hat  with  its  stenciled  band 
was  in  her  lap  and  her  short  hair  was  bound  with  an  or 
ange  fillet. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  should  organize  a  protest  against 
the  way  these  windows  stick  ?  I  have  tried  to  raise  mine 
and  I  can't  make  it  budge.  It's  high-handed  enough  of 
the  government  to  conscript  us  against  our  will  without 
being  suffocated  the  very  first  thing !  I  don't  think  they 
have  any  right  to  take  away  our  liberty  like  this !  " 

All  that  Mildred  comprehended  was  that  the  girl 
wanted  the  window  open. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  she  said,  rising. 

The  protesting  one's  seat  mate  seemed  a  silent  soul  and 
merely  moved  aside  with  a  murmured,  "  Yes,  ma'am," 
as  the  two  girls  struggled  with  the  window. 

"  Suppose  you  let  me  do  it." 

A  tall,  square  girl  with  a  rough  tweed  jacket  like  a 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.   A.  49 

boy's  bent  to  get  her  shoulder  under  the  top  of  the  sash 
and  straightening,  sent  the  window  up  with  a  bang.  Then 
she  swung  round  into  the  aisle,  thrust  her  hands  into  her 
jacket  pockets  and  stood  balancing  herself  with  her  feet 
wide  apart.  She  had  strong  brown  hair  which  rippled 
away  from  her  broad,  low  forehead.  The  heavy  eye 
brows  above  her  gray  eyes  were  black.  She  had  a  wide 
sweet  mouth,  and  very  big,  very  white  teeth.  Her  hands 
and  her  feet  were  large,  but  there  was  a  deft  firmness 
about  her  long  fingers  and  about  her  big  body,  that  made 
one  think  of  some  great  machine. 

"  There,  that  makes  me  feel  free  again !  "  said  the  girl 
with  the  bobbed  hair.  "  Not  that  I  was  much  too  warm, 
but  it  wasn't  right  not  to  have  it  come  open  if  you  wanted 
it  to.  I  suppose  outrages  like  this  will  happen  to  us  the 
whole  way.  I  know  they  will  under  this  barbarous  mili 
taristic  system !  " 

Mamie  Epstein  leaned  forward  and  spoke  across  the 
car: 

"  You  listen  like  you  didn't  want  to  come?  " 

"Want  to?  Of  course  not.  Why  should  I  want  to 
have  my  career  interrupted  like  this  ?  I  don't  believe  in 
governments  anyway.  Oh,  if  they  carry  it  much  further, 
they  will  find  how  powerless  they  really  are  when  the 
people  all  rise  up  as  one  man  and  say  '  Stop ! ' 

"  Well,  on  work  I  can't  say  I'm  any  more  stuck  than 
you  are.  I  been  working  and  I  guess  I  know.  But  for 
working  in  the  Service  nobody  ain't  goin'  to  look  at  you 
sarcastic,  'cause  they  all  got  to  do  it,  see  ?  It  don't  make 
no  difference  if  you  got  a  million  dollars  or  just  ten 
cents,  you  gotta  work  just  the  same." 

The  short  haired  girl  shook  with  rage. 

"  It  isn't  the  work  at  all.  I  glory  in  work.  Only  no 
body  ought  to  be  in  the  position  to  make  me  do  it.  I 
E 


50  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

want  work  that  will  express  me.  I'd  love  it.  It  would 
be  the  greatest  privilege." 

"  Humm,"  said  Mamie  Epstein  conclusively,  "  to  praise 
up  work  you  ain't  got  no  license.  Gee,  I  can't  shake 
work  too  soon  to  suit  myself." 

The  short  haired  girl  turned  to  her  window  in  evident 
despair  at  making  herself  understood,  and  Mamie,  quite 
unsubdued,  said  to  Mildred: 

"  I  bet  you  ain't  never  worked?  " 

The  remark  was  a  question  and  Mildred  hesitated. 

"  Well,  no,  I'm  afraid  I  haven't." 

The  tall  girl  lounged  against  the  back  of  Mildred's  seat 
considering  the  girl  in  the  picture  gown  thoughtfully. 

"  Where  in  New  York  do  you  live?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

The  picture  girl  shook  her  short  hair  and  answered  de 
fiantly  : 

"  I  live  with  my  brother  —  he's  an  artist.  We've  got 
a  studio  apartment  on  the  south  side  of  Washington 
Square.  He's  Arthur  Forsythe,  —  you  probably  know 
his  work." 

"  Oh,  yes, —  doesn't  he  do  those  perfectly  stunning 
girls  on  the  covers  of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post?  " 

"  But  those  are  only  pot  boilers  he  throws  off  occa 
sionally,"  cried  Ellen  Forsythe  quickly.  "  His  real  work 
is  interpretative  color  arrangements,  —  everybody  is  per 
fectly  mad  about  them  —  they're  wonderful." 

"  Where  does  he  show  them?  " 

"  In  the  studio.  He  wouldn't  think  of  letting  a  dealer 
have  them,  —  the  atmosphere  wouldn't  be  right.  They're 
purely  individual  expressions." 

"  Expressions  of  what?  " 

"  Why,  of  personality,  of  course !  " 

"  What  do  you  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  Do  —  Oh !     Good  Gracious !     Why,  surround  your- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  51 

self  with  them  of  course  —  get  inspired  by  them  —  let 
them  permeate  your  being." 

"  But  what  do  they  look  like  ?  " 

"Look  like!  Look  like!  Well,  that  shows  what  the 
bourgeoisie  are!  Don't  you  know  that  what  they  look 
like  depends  entirely  on  how  you  feel  ?  " 

Mamie  Epstein's  mouth  had  dropped  open.  Mildred 
felt  as  though  somebody  was  trying  a  new  serve  on  her. 
Only  the  tall  girl  had  the  self  command  not  to  be  cowed 
and  asked  —  though  not  quite  so  confidently : 

"  Are  you  an  artist,  too  ?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  be  when  this  awful  year  is  over." 

It  was  Mamie  Epstein  who  came  to  the  rescue.  She 
couldn't  place  Ellen  Forsythe  in  her  scheme  of  the  uni 
verse.  She  knew  Washington  Square,  because  in  mo 
ments  of  affluence  or  during  the  incipient  courtship  of 
some  "gentleman  friend,"  she  occasionally  took  the  bus 
there  for  a  ride  uptown  and  back;  she  had  seen  not  only 
the  awnings  run  out  from  the  houses  on  the  north  side 
but  also  the  Italian-filled  benches  "  like  it  was  Hester 
Street  —  believe  me."  But  she  looked  at  Ellen  Forsythe, 
at  her  clothes  of  a  kind  quite  unknown  to  her  garment- 
making  circle  and  quite  unpurchasable  in  shops,  at  her 
short  hair  done  in  no  fashion  advocated  by  the  Woman's 
Page  of  the  Sunday  paper,  at  her  flat  heelless  shoes,  and 
felt  that  she  compared  very  unfavorably  from  a  sartorial 
standpoint  with  her  own  cheap  smartness  —  and  yet  her 
accent  was  distinctly  "  swell."  Mamie  turned  confi 
dently  to  the  two  other  girls : 

"  I  bet  you're  uptown,"  she  said. 

"  I  live  in  Washington  Square,  too,"  said  Mildred, 
"  not  very  far  from  Miss  Forsythe." 

"We  live  in  113th  Street,  —  up  near  the  University. 
My  father's  in  the  science  department  of  Columbia.  He's 
Professor  Ralph  Ansel." 


52  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"Oh!"  said  Mildred  brightening,  "then  aren't  you 
Ruth  Ansel  ?  And  isn't  it  your  brother  that  plays  on  the 
same  hockey  team  with  Nick  Van  Arsdale?  I  thought 
I'd  seen  you  at  the  games.  I'm  Mildred  Carver." 

To  Ruth  Ansel  the  name  conveyed  all  that  Mamie  Ep 
stein  and  Ellen  Forsythe  would  have  liked  to  know.  But 
she  did  not  show  it.  She  too  lived  in  a  little  aristocracy 
of  her  own;  not  perhaps  as  exclusive  or  well  established 
as  the  one  where  Mildred  belonged,  but  far  more  amus 
ing.  And  these  two  aristocracies  were  contiguous,  — 
there  was  constant  intercourse  between  them,  —  not  on 
equal  terms  —  Oh  no !  Neither  would  have  admitted 
that.  Both  sides  felt  that  the  other  must  know  that  they 
condescended  —  both  sides  admitted  it  themselves,  so  it 
must  be  true. 

The  four  girls  settled  into  a  group  and  began  a  tenta 
tive  testing  out  of  each  other  —  a  sort  of  preliminary 
alignment  for  what  was  coming.  Already  they  were  be 
ginning  to  realize  that  whatever  demands  might  be  made 
on  them,  no  family  nor  friends  could  piece  out  their  ef 
forts,  —  they  must  stand  on  their  own  feet. 

To  Mildred  the  idea  of  work  was  full  of  terrifying 
allurement.  What  would  it  be  like?  What  would  they 
find  she  was  able  to  do  ?  Thinking  over  the  eighteen 
years  of  her  life  she  realized  her  distinct  limitations.  She 
could  play  a  pretty  good  game  of  tennis.  Her  French 
and  Italian  were  fair.  She  had  a  certain  amateurish  but 
very  sincere  interest  in  the  little  she  knew  of  the  physical 
sciences.  As  for  sewing,  Henriette  had  done  everything 
of  that  sort  for  her.  Of  course  she  could  drive  an  auto 
mobile.  She  was  conscious  of  being  able  to  do  that 
excellently  well  and  she  knew  about  most  of  the  things 
that  could  happen  to  its  interior.  She  had  even  helped 
to  put  on  the  tires.  How  far  would  these  acquirements 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  53 

take  her  in  the  unexplored  continent  of  the  Service? 
She  had  no  idea  what  the  dangers  and  delights  of  it 
were,  but  she  was  perfectly  willing  to  experience  them. 
Mildred  did  not  know  whether  she  was  enthusiastic  about 
work  or  not,  but  she  knew  she  was  anxious  to  find  out. 

The  whole  car  had  begun  to  buzz.  The  forty  girls 
were  becoming  conscious  of  the  bond  of  their  new  ad 
venture  and  were  eager  to  talk  about  it.  No  one  would 
have  thought  that  they  had  so  much  in  common, 
for  there  was  every  sort  of  face,  every  sort  of  dress,  and 
every  sort  of  manner.  And  they  were  further  differen 
tiated  from  each  other  by  the  loving  care  of  their  sor 
rowing  parents  which  had  decked  them  with  all  kinds  of 
inappropriate  finery  for  the  occasion.  Now  as  they  be 
gan  to  try  and  impress  each  other,  all  their  little  vanities 
of  person  or  place  or  possession  cropped  out.  New  and 
mostly  cheap  traveling  bags  were  opened  ostentatiously. 
Bracelets  clinked,  chains  and  beads  were  fingered.  "  My 
father's  business  "  —  "  my  married  sister  "  —  "  my  rich- 
off  cousin  "  —  "  our  victrola  " —  all  were  talked  about 
for  the  benefit  of  the  car.  And  then  the  Universal  Serv 
ice  sergeant  began  a  slow  progress  of  instruction  from 
seat  to  seat,  —  dinner  would  be  served  them  on  the  train, 
—  the  porter  would  make  up  the  berths  at  nine  o'clock  — 
the  girl  whose  surname  came  first  in  the  alphabet  would 
take  the  lower  berth  —  "  hang  your  skirts  on  the  hooks, 
put  your  hats  and  shoes  into  the  nets,"  —  a  whole  series 
of  things  she  told  them  that  came  as  needed  instruction, 
for  about  three-fourths  of  the  girls  had  never  been  in  a 
sleeping  car  before.  The  sergeant  left  behind  her  a  trail 
of  giggling  wonder. 

When  Mildred,  wrapped  in  her  little  silk  kimono,  was 
ready  to  slip  into  her  berth  she  found  Mamie  Epstein 
standing  frightened  in  the  aisle. 


54  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  Up  to  that  little  shelf  how  should  I  get  myself  ?  Sure 
I  think  it  shuts  up  on  me!  In  the  night  if  I  roll  over 
what  will  I  do?  Rather  I  would  sleep  sitting  up,  believe 
me!" 

Mildred  was  anxious  to  let  Mamie  have  the  lower  berth, 
but  the  car  sergeant  was  rigid  in  her  discipline  and  Mamie 
was  forced  to  climb  up  the  ladder  to  her  place.  But  Mil 
dred  was  conscious,  as  long  as  she  stayed  awake,  of  two 
feet  hanging  down  over  the  edge  of  the  berth,  and  real 
ized  that  Mamie,  too  frightened  to  lie  down,  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  holding  on  with  both  hands. 

They  breakfasted  at  Buffalo.  Everybody  knows  the 
long,  low  Government  eating  room  with  lunch  counters 
around  a  great  square.  The  hungry  girls,  each  with  her 
government  order  in  her  hand,  filed  in  and  sat  about  on 
the  high  stools.  They  were  served  by  lads  in  khaki,  also 
in  the  government  service,  and  Mamie  Epstein,  who  had 
a  catholic  taste  in  acquaintance,  advanced  conversation 
ally  upon  the  one  who  pushed  their  food  toward  them. 
To  her  it  seemed  that  introductions  could  just  as  well  be 
made  by  oneself  as  by  anybody  else  —  better  in  fact  be 
cause  obviously  one  knew  oneself  better. 

"  Gee,  Charlie,  this  is  fierce  coffee  —  cold  too !  Say, 
can't  you  give  us  eggs  that's  been  nearer  the  stove  than 
what  the  ice-box  is?  " 

Mildred  blushed  with  embarrassment  that  one  should 
find  fault  with  what  was  offered.  But  the  boy  turned 
back  to  them  laughing : 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  he  drawled,  "  Ah  reckon  youah  dispo 
sition  would  cook  most  anything  you  was  to  apply  it  to. 
Shall  ah  serve  you  a  egg  raw?  " 

After  one  blank  moment,  Mamie  giggled,  then  seated 
herself  more  firmly  on  the  revolving  stool. 

"  Smarty !     Believe  me,  it's  some  little  trip  from  New 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  55 

York  and  we  ain't  half  there  yet.  ,  I  could  travel  forever 
just  looking  out  of  the  window,  but  my  lady  friend  here 
—  let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  Miss  Carver  —  she 
don't  care  about  it  a'tall." 

The  young  man  held  out  his  hand  gravely  to  Mildred. 

"  It's  an  honah  to  meet  you,  Miss  Ca'vah.  Ah  you 
also  from  New  York  City  ?  " 

He  lounged  his  six  feet  of  Southern  mountaineer 
across  the  counter  until  the  officer  called  him  sharply  to 
his  work;  but  at  the  next  pause  he  turned  back  to  talk 
with  them  again,  or  rather  to  listen  to  Mamie  Epstein  who 
chattered  like  a  squirrel  about  everything  in  the  world. 

"  Say,  ain't  he  grand  ?  "  cried  Mamie  when  they  were 
back  on  the  train.  "  Ain't  his  voice  just  swell  ?  The 
way  he  kind  of  smooths  all  the  words  together  like  there 
\vasn't  any  stops  between  them  makes  you  feel  like  you 
was  Mrs.  Vanderbilt.  Understand  me  ?  " 

'  These  Southerners,"  said  Ellen  Forsythe,  "  are  really 
an  undeveloped  race.  They  still  believe  in  the  subjec 
tion  of  women.  They  haven't  the  slightest  understand 
ing  of  the  feminist  movement.  All  they  think  of  is  if 
you're  pretty  or  not.  I  think  it's  a  great  disadvantage 
for  a  woman  to  be  good  looking.  It  just  fogs  the  issue 
all  the  time.  Of  course  being  artistic  is  entirely  differ 
ent.  That's  everybody's  duty  but  just  mere  beauty  is 
hardly  worth  having." 

Mamie  looked  her  over  carefully  from  her  sloping 
shoulders  to  her  flat-heeled  shoes  and  there  was  nothing 
but  disapproval  in  her  look. 

"  You  should  worry,"  she  said  calmly. 

The  remark  appeared  to  strain  relations  for  a  time 
although  it  obviously  emanated  from  a  difference  of 
taste;  Mamie  striving  personally  to  approach  her  ideal 
of  plump  high  colored  compactness  and  Ellen  Forsythe 


56  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

holding  up  before  herself  that  willowy  picturesqueness, 
the  apotheosis  of  a  waving  corn  leaf,  which  she  strove 
to  realize.  Mildred,  on  the  impulse  of  a  life  saver,  threw 
herself  into  the  talk  with  unaccustomed  vigor  and  tried 
to  make  it  seem  as  though  Mamie's  clear  voiced  remark 
was  merely  an  illusion  of  the  ear.  It  was  so  evident  that 
Miss  Mamie  Epstein  hadn't  intended  to  be  rude,  but  that 
hitherto  her  social  experience  hadn't  demanded  much 
tact. 

"What  did  you  register  for?"  Mildred  asked  Ruth 
Ansel  hurriedly. 

"  Oh,  a  whole  string  of  things  —  everything  I  wanted 
to  do  all  at  once  so  they  wouldn't  have  any  excuse  to  send 
me  into  an  office  —  mining  and  forestry  and  transporta 
tion  and  agriculture  were  the  first  four." 

"  I  registered  just  for  agriculture  and  transportation. 
What  was  yours?  "  she  asked  Mamie  Epstein. 

"  When  I  ain't  done  any  of  'em  anyway,  how  should  I 
know?  I  just  said  not  working  by  cloaks  and  suits  or 
kimonos  or  anything  to  sew.  I'll  be  working  by  them  all 
my  life  anyway  if  I  don't  get  me  no  up-town  feller." 

"  I  wouldn't  register  for  anything,"  Ellen  Forsythe 
volunteered.  "If  the  Government  steals  my  productive 
labor  for  a  year  they  can't  expect  me  to  help  them  decide 
what  to  do  with  it." 

"  Well,  we  all  seem  to  have  drawn  agriculture,  any 
way." 

"  But  I  don't  see  —  "  Mildred  began. 

The  train  stopped  with  a  disconcerting  suddenness  and 
the  girls  pressed  against  the  windows.  They  had  come 
to  a  repair  gang  working  on  the  road.  As  the  train 
pulled  slowly  ahead  the  lines  of  workmen  smiled  up  at 
the  girls,  took  off  their  soft  felt  hats  and  called  greetings 
and  most  of  the  girls  laughed  and  shouted  back  and  tried 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  57 

to  get  the  windows  open  so  that  they  could  talk  more 
easily,  for  the  railroad  gang  was  largely  made  up  from 
the  Universal  Service  and  there  was  a  natural  free 
masonry  among  them.  In  charge  were  trained  railroad 
makers,  under  them  a  group  of  graduates  of  the  Service 
who  had  chosen  to  go  on  with  the  work,  and  in  the  lowest 
grade  a  group  of  raw  Service  lads  doing  the  unskilled 
work  of  shoveling  gravel  and  pushing  wheelbarrows 
and  carrying  material  back  and  forth.  For  this  was  a 
government  road,  and  the  community  commanded  enough 
unskilled  labor  —  temporarily  unskilled  because  it  had 
not  yet  found  its  place  in  industry  —  so  that  the  old  type 
of  permanently  unskilled  laborer  was  rarely  found  ex 
cept  in  remote  uncontrolled  industries  and  showed  a  ten 
dency  to  disappear  altogether.  The  big  fact  of  their 
joint  service  to  the  State  made  these  boys  and  girls 
friendly  at  once. 

"  Pretty  busy,  aren't  you  ?  "  called  Ruth  Ansel,  leaning 
through  the  window  she  had  wrenched  open. 

"  Sure,"  came  back  a  rich  Irish  voice.  "  Makin'  the 
road  safe  for  democracy  to  say  nothin'  of  bracin'  it  up 
so  you  won't  get  yourselves  broke  going  by." 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  she  called  to  another  as  the  train 
gathered  way. 

"  You  bet,"  came  the  response. 

"Where  you-all  going?"  called  a  soft  voiced,  dark 
eyed  lad. 

"  Going  to  Minneapolis,"  shouted  Mamie  Epstein. 

"  That  might  be  the  mills,"  said  a  young  Scandinavian 
understandingly.  "  Give  the  city  my  love,  —  unless 
you'd  like  to  keep  it  yourself." 

Mamie  made  a  face  at  him. 

"  Ain't  you  got  a  nerve !  "  she  cried. 

Ellen  Forsythe  raised  her  chin  scornfully,  and  Mil- 


58  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

dred  felt  herself  out  of  the  charted  coasts  of  her  social 
experience.  But  at  least  here  was  some  sort  of  an  anchor 
age.  "  We're  making  the  road  safe  for  you."  Of 
course !  She  hadn't  thought  about  work  as  getting  some 
thing  done.  She  was  going  to  do  it  because  the  govern 
ment  made  her,  but  she  hadn't  hitherto  considered  the 
object  of  the  work  itself.  When  poor  men  worked  it 
was,  of  course,  to  earn  money  to  live  on ;  when  rich  men 
worked  it  was  because  they  wanted  more  money  than 
they  already  had;  when  wromen  worked  it  was  because 
they  were  so  unfortunate  as  not  to  have  any  man  to  work 
for  them.  Work  was  because  people  had  to  get  money. 
But  here  was  work  not  to  get  money  but  because  the 
thing  you  were  doing  had  to  be  done !  To  Mildred,  ut 
terly  innocent  of  any  sort  of  economic  theory  and  know 
ing  only  the  part  of  the  world  that  spent  money  instead 
of  earning  it,  it  all  seemed  very  wonderful.  And  as  she 
continued  to  think  about  it,  quite  touchingly  beautiful 
too,  but  no  more  comprehensible  than  the  principles  of 
metabolism.  She  tried  to  reason  about  it,  but  her  mind 
didn't  focus  easily  at  such  a  depth;  so  she  turned  to 
Mamie  Epstein,  who  was  crowded  close  against  the  win 
dow,  entranced  by  the  hurrying  procession  of  Ohio  fields. 

"  Do  you  think  we'll  know  how  to  do  what  they  want 
us  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  tentatively. 

"  Well,  it's  up  to  them,  ain't  it?  " 

"I  —  I  suppose  it  is.  But  if  it's  something  that's  got 
to  be  done  and  we  can't  do  it  —  " 

"  The  boss'll  find  that  out,  you  bet !  " 

"  Yes,  but  if  it's  got  to  be  done  right  away  and  we  can't 
do  it  —  " 

"  Then  we  gotta  learn  it,  and  you  can  get  by  with  a 
lot,  too." 

Mildred  felt  instinctively  that  Mamie  hadn't  grasped 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  59 

the  idea.  She  hadn't  got  it  clear  herself,  but  she  felt 
certain  that  there  was  an  idea  in  it,  and  that  she  might 
have  a  chance  of  grasping  it  if  she  once  saw  it  clearly. 
She  was  quite  sure  that  Nick  had  not  seen  it  —  that  he 
didn't  even  know  that  it  was  there.  Why,  she  hadn't 
known  it  was  there  a  day  ago  herself  —  and  now  look  at 
the  way  she  felt  about  it !  But  Nick,  —  why,  when  they 
set  Nick  to  some  sort  of  work  he  would  do  it  because  he 
had  to,  not  because  it  was  something  that  needed  to  be 
done.  He  would  be  perfectly  dear  about  it,  and  he 
wouldn't  shirk  or  anything,  but  how  he  would  hate  it! 
Hadn't  they  talked  it  over  together  again  and  again? 
Wasn't  work,  the  Universal  Service  especially,  a  hard 
duty,  a  requisition,  a  tax,  a  horrible  obstacle  set  between 
them  and  what  they  wanted  to  do? 

And  as  Mildred  went  on  with  the  unaccustomed  occu 
pation  of  trying  to  think  it  through,  there  came  to  her  a 
sort  of  picture,  very  faint  and  blurred  as  though  it  hadn't 
been  fully  developed  on  the  film  of  her  mind,  of  a  whole 
people  working  together  for  the  things  that  they  all 
needed  to  have.  And  just  by  virtue  of  this  vision,  dim 
and  misty  as  it  was,  the  aversion  with  which  she  had 
entered  the  Service  vanished  and  she  was  filled  with 
a  tremulous  delight  in  the  new  adventure  in  which  she  — 
Mildred  Carver,  an  independent,  free  swimming  human 
being  —  wras  embarked ;  and  she  knew  way  down  in  the 
bottom  of  that  soul  that  she  was  just  beginning  to  be  con 
scious  of,  that  she  wouldn't  give  up  the  chance  of  it,  — 
no,  not  for  anything  that  the  world  had  yet  seen  fit  to 
offer  her,  beloved  daughter  of  the  rich  and  great  as  she 
was. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

IT  was  dark  when  the  girls  reached  Minneapolis. 
Automobile  busses  carried  them  out  through  the 
bright  streets  where  tiny  box  trees  showed  green 
about  the  tops  of  the  lamp  posts ;  out  beyond  the  crowded 
part  of  the  city;  past  a  little  lake,  like  a  mislaid  hand 
mirror,  to  a  group  of  long  two-story  buildings.  The 
quartermaster  of  their  company  met  them  at  the  door 
with  a  manner  compounded  of  that  of  a  school  teacher, 
a  trained  nurse  and  a  shop  forelady,  and  the  girls  filed  in 
with  their  bags  and  looked  about  in  every  sort  of  sur 
prise.  To  not  one  of  them  was  this  great  room  the  sort 
of  place  they  had  expected  to  live  in.  Dark  wood  tables 
stood  down  the  middle  of  it  with  shaded  lamps  upon 
them.  The  dull  red  curtains  blowing  strongly  on  the 
night  wind  were  the  same  color  as  the  stenciled  frieze 
that  ran  around  the  top  of  the  gray  plaster  wall,  the  same 
color  as  the  cushions  on  the  long  seats  under  the  windows, 
and  as  the  covers  on  the  tops  of  the  low  bookcases.  It 
was  comfortable,  it  was  almost  beautiful,  it  was  only 
like  an  institution  in  that  it  smelled  a  little  of  soap  and 
the  corners  of  the  floor  were  rounded  so  that  it  could  be 
cleaned  by  the  simple  process  of  turning  on  the  hose.  But 
it  was  not  like  anything  that  any  of  them  had  ever  con 
sidered  as  home. 

Mildred  saw  it  against  the  living  places  of  the  Carver 
family  —  the  high  stately  rooms,  the  lovely  textures,  and 
the  costly  furnishings.  Mamie  Epstein  compared  it  with 
the  four-room  home  up  three  flights  of  stairs  which 

60 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  61 

housed  her  father,  mother,  five  brothers  and  sisters  and 
herself  —  a  place  huddled  with  imitation  brass  beds, 
cheap  lace  curtains,  chenille  portieres,  photographs  in 
color  which  represented  to  Mamie  the  last  word  in  Art, 
gilt  clocks,  vases,  ornaments  and  an  insistent  cheap  pro 
fusion  under  untempered  gaslight.  Ellen  Forsythe, 
standing  critically  aloof  with  an  antagonistic  eye  traveling 
back  and  forth,  was  heard  to  snap  the  single  condemna 
tory  word  —  "  Bourgeois !  " 

To  the  girls  who  were  used  to  cafeterias,  the  supper 
that  night  did  not  seem  a  strange  thing.  The  practical 
education  in  table  manners  of  the  working  girl  who 
lunches  in  restaurants  helped  them  through ;  but  for  those 
who  had  no  experience  of  eating  except  in  their  own 
homes  it  was  a  trying  occasion.  Still  to  have  something 
to  do  after  the  long  physical  inaction  of  their  journey, 
even  if  it  was  only  to  take  up  their  trays  and  file  through 
the  kitchen  for  their  food,  was  a  relief  to  them  all.  It 
was  a  relief  too  for  them  to  get  into  their  white  cots  and 
find  themselves  on  something  stationary  with  no  rumble 
in  their  ears. 

Mildred  went  to  sleep,  after  the  whispering  had  died 
down  in  the  dormitory,  with  the  forlorn  feeling  of  an 
unassimilated  little  atom  wandering  over  the  surface  of 
the  earth  by  itself.  She  felt  poignantly  that  she  and 
all  the  other  girls  were  quite  unrelated,  that  their  only 
connection  was  the  purely  external  fact  that,  happening 
to  be  the  same  age,  they  had  come  from  New  York  on  the 
same  train,  and  were  sleeping  now  in  the  same  room. 
Nothing  had  yet  bound  them  together.  Even  their 
clothes  were  mutually  antagonistic.  Mildred's  little 
French  cloak  and  trim  hat  hung  on  the  rack  at  the  foot  of 
her  bed,  opposite  was  Mamie  Epstein's  bright  blue  dress, 
and  further  off  the  boyish  suit  of  Ruth  Ansel,  and 


62  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

all  down  the  room  a  very  medley  of  garments,  —  clothes 
not  to  be  worn  again  for  many  months. 

The  girls  were  waked  in  the  morning  by  the  clanging  of 
a  bell,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  the  quartermaster, 
saying : 

"  Good  morning,  girls." 

Blonde  and  brune,  they  sat  up  in  their  beds  and  an 
swered  her. 

"  Come  to  me  in  the  store  room  —  that  door  there  — 
one  at  a  time  and  get  your  uniforms.     The  girl  in  the  first 
cot  may  come  first." 

The  whole  dormitory  watched  as  the  first  girl  slipped 
out  after  the  quartermaster.  She  came  back  presently 
with  an  armful  of  clothes  —  everything  from  hat  to 
shoes,  and  as  she  carried  them  down  the  room,  the  other 
girls  reached  out  to  stop  her,  and  finger  them,  and  ex 
claim. 

After  breakfast  when  they  were  formed  in  line  in  the 
courtyard  there  appeared  a  new  thing  in  the  world,  a 
fresh  creation  —  the  Forty-second  Unit  of  the  Eleventh 
Corps  of  the  National  Agricultural  Service,  —  and 
marched  away  up  the  street.  They  had  come  there  as 
individuals  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow;  in  all  the 
fashions  that  different  purses  and  stages  of  aesthetic 
development  permitted;  showing  at  the  first  glance  all 
sorts  of  breeding  and  circumstance,  sartorially  embodied, 
—  but  they  marched  down  the  street  that  first  morning 
as  a  unit,  having  taken  on  the  surface  democracy  of  the 
Service  uniform,  the  khaki,  the  brown  frieze,  the  square 
brown  boots  and  soft  felt  hats,  and  so  become  part  of  a 
thing  which  was  bigger  and  better  than  any  of  them 
working  alone  could  ever  be. 

Mildred,  taking  her  place  in  the  line,  had  a  quick  vision 
of  another  procession  in  which  she  would  be  the  chief 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  63 

figure,  —  a  procession  where  she  would  walk  up  the  aisle 
in  the  little  church  in  Torexo  Park  with  her  satin  train 
following  after  and  her  grandmother's  lace  veil  trailing 
softly.  Bridesmaids  in  blue  would  be  stepping  on  ahead, 
and  there  would  be  the  music  of  the  organ  and  the  per 
fume  of  the  flowers,  and  all  the  people  turning  their  heads 
to  see,  and  way  up  ahead  the  rector  and,  —  yes,  of  course, 
—  Nick,  probably  looking  frightened  and  ridiculous, 
waiting  for  her.  All  this  wedding  procession  Mildred 
arranged  and  experienced  as  they  were  getting  the  step, — 
left,  left,  left,  —  but  it  faded  quite  obediently  away  as  she 
fell  into  the  rhythm  of  the  company  going  to  work,  and 
her  steps  beat  out  an  insistent  questioning,  —  why  ?  why  ? 
why?  The  underlying  motif  of  all  this  work  eluded  her. 
No  one  in  any  part  of  her  past  life  was  the  interpreter 
she  needed.  And  so,  still  bewildered,  she  marched  with 
her  company  out  to  the  great  flour  mill  which  the  gov 
ernment  had  taken  over  in  response  to  the  demand  of  the 
Farmers'  Non-Partisan  League  after  the  food  shortage 
of  1918. 

The  mill,  rising  like  a  tawny  brick  cliff  set  on  the 
high  banks  that  held  in  the  river,  offered  long  rows 
of  clear  windows  to  the  east.  Inside,  the  sun  laid  great 
slow-moving  squares  of  light  upon  the  floors,  gilded  the 
whirling  machines  and  turned  the  floating  flour  dust  into 
pyramids  and  prisms  of  impalpable  gold.  The  girls  were 
formed  in  line  by  the  sergeant  of  their  unit,  —  a  long 
brown-clad  row  with  their  likenesses  far  more  evident 
than  their  differences.  Mildred  at  the  far  end  waited 
nervously.  Why  did  she  have  to  be  there?  She  had 
come  because  she  had  been  drafted,  but  what  good  did  it 
do?  What  was  it  for?  Why  had  the  government 
drafted  her  ? 

And  then  the  door  opened  and  some  one  carne  in.     His 


64  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

silhouette  showed  clear  against  the  window  —  tall  and 
thin  with  small,  compact  head  and  marked  features.  He 
swung  toward  them,  stopped  opposite  the  middle  of  the 
line  and  smiled.  It  was  a  smile  that  parted  his  thin  lips 
over  his  white  teeth,  that  crinkled  up  the  corners  of  his 
eyes  and  even  seemed  to  curl  the  ends  of  his  dark  hair,  — 
a  smile  so  full  of  sincerity  and  happiness  and  appreciation, 
and  so  comprehendingly  sweet,  that  it  would  never  have 
been  possible  to  any  woman  of  the  sheltered  old  school 
and  to  very  few  men,  because  it  was  the  smile  of  some 
one  who  had  seen  the  world  as  it  really  is  —  the  great 
masses  of  splendor  and  progress,  and  the  thin  black  sedi 
ment  of  shame  and  inertia  —  and  had  found  it  good.  He 
looked  down  the  line  of  girls  and  for  each  one  his  smile 
was  a  personal  greeting  —  not  the  greeting  of  a  boss,  or 
a  brother,  certainly  not  of  the  potential  lover,  but  of  a 
new  thing  that  was  just  coming  into  the  world  between 
men  and  women  —  the  greeting  of  the  fellow  servant. 

"  Girls,"  said  John  Barton,  and  his  voice  was  an  in 
finitely  pleasant  Yankee  drawl,  "  I'm  glad  to  welcome  you 
into  the  Agricultural  Service.  This  may  not  look  like 
agriculture  to  you,  but  you  are  here  to  help  provide  bread 
for  the  people  of  all  the  world.  It's  almost  the  most  im 
portant  thing  there  is  to  do.  The  folks  that  raise  the 
wheat,  and  the  ones  that  ship  it,  and  store  it,  and  sell  it, 
and  bake  it,  are  all  in  the  same  work  with  you.  If  any 
of  them  do  their  work  badly  —  fall  down  on  their  jobs 
in  any  way  —  either  there  isn't  so  much  bread,  or  it  isn't 
so  good,  or  it  doesn't  get  to  the  people  when  they  ought 
to  have  it.  And  everybody  has  to  have  bread !  " 

Mildred  caught  her  breath.  Was  he  going  to  say  the 
thing  she  had  been  trying  to  think  out  for  herself  —  the 
thing  she  had  been  waiting  for?  She  felt  the  color  rise 
to  her  cheeks. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  65 

"  And  so  that  you'll  be  able  to  do  your  share  in  seeing 
that  everybody,  including  yourselves,  has  bread,  you've 
got  to  learn  to  work,  and  I'm  here  to  teach  you  the  best 
and  easiest  way.  There  isn't  anything  about  it  that's 
too  hard  for  any  girl  to  do,  but  your  share  has  got  to  be 
done  right  every  day,  not  because  you  will  be  docked  in 
money  if  it  isn't,  but  because  it  will  interfere  with  the 
bread  that  all  the  people  of  the  United  States  have  got  to 
have." 

Mildred  felt  a  stirring  in  the  place  where  her  emotions 
slept  and  a  quick  burning  back  of  her  eyes.  It  was  like 
the  way  you  expected  to  feel  in  church  —  and  mostly 
didn't!  And  her  rising  enthusiasm  for  the  things  John 
Barton  had  said  reached  out  to  include  the  man  who  had 
said  them,  and  some  of  the  glory  she  thought  she  saw  in 
them  flashed  back  again  over  him. 

It  was  evident  that  not  all  of  the  girls  took  in  the 
meaning  of  this  little  prelude.  To  those  who  had  per 
sonally  experienced  work  as  it  occurs  in  the  uncontrolled 
world  of  industry,  John  Barton's  talk  was  quite  unre 
lated  to  reality.  But  to  Mildred  it  was  a  new  gospel  an 
nounced  by  a  new  prophet. 

"  And  now  I'll  start  you  in  the  sewing  room,"  said  the 
foreman.  "  Over  there  you'll  find  your  aprons  and 
caps." 

When  they  were  ready  he  led  them  to  a  long,  low  table, 
pointed  each  one  to  a  chair  and  handed  out  great  coarse 
needles,  and  piles  of  cotton  twine.  Then  he  brought  a 
small  bag  of  flour  with  an  open  top  to  the  end  of  the 
table. 

"  Now  this,  girls,  is  what  I  expect  you  to  do.  You 
turn  in  the  top  like  this  —  see  ?  Hold  it  tight  together 
with  your  left  hand  —  be  sure  there's  a  knot  in  the  end 
of  your  thread,  and  begin  to  sew  the  top  up  with  six 


66  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

stitches,  pulling  them  tight  like  this  —  see  ?  and  fasten 
the  end  of  the  thread  with  two  stitches  —  see  ?  Now  if 
you  have  all  got  your  needles,  each  thread  hers  with  a 
piece  of  twine.  Don't  mix  up  your  pile  of  twine,  you 
fourth  girl  from  the  end  (this  to  Ellen  Forsythe),  —  get 
it  all  straight  before  you  begin.  There  now,  all  right! 
I'll  give  you  each  a  bag  and  you  will  see  how  to  do  it." 

It  was  a  pretty  poor  performance,  judged  from  the 
standpoint  of  getting  flour  sacks  sewed  in  anything  like 
a  reasonable  time.  The  girls  who  had  worked  in  the 
clothing  factories  did  much  better  than  the  Wadleigh 
High  School  girls  or  Ruth  or  Mildred  or  Ellen  Forsythe. 
John  Barton  watched  them  in  silence  and  walked  down 
the  table  and  told  each  girl  what  was  the  matter  with  her 
work. 

"  Now  all  get  your  hands  off  the  table  and  we'll  try 
it  again." 

He  pressed  a  lever,  and  the  part  of  the  table  where  the 
bags  stood  tipped,  and  they  slid  into  a  chute  beneath 
while  unsewed  ones  came  down  from  above.  The  second 
bags  went  a  little  better  but  it  was  still  slow  work.  Over 
and  over  during  their  first  shift  the  foreman  stood  beside 
them  teaching  them  the  simple  work  of  sewing  the  tops 
of  flour  sacks  together  —  over  and  over  again !  Each  girl 
had  a  sandwich  and  a  glass  of  milk  at  ten  o'clock  and  then 
back  to  their  tables  and  their  flour  sacks. 

So  that  was  the  reason  why  she  was  there,  —  Mildred 
told  herself  as  she  struggled  with  a  refractory  flour  sack, 
—  so  that  everybody  could  have  bread !  The  idea  didn't 
excite  her  much  because  she  had  always  taken  it  for 
granted  that  they  had  bread  anyway.  And  besides,  her 
connection  with  it  all,  through  those  six  stitches  in  the 
tops  of  the  little  flour  bags,  seemed  attenuated  and  re 
mote.  And  then  came  the  foreman  and  took  the  first  ten 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  67 

girls  on  a  journey  through  the  mill.  Leaning  from  the 
top  window  Mildred  saw  far  down  below  the  full  cars 
pouring  their  loads  into  the  mill. 

"  They  come  from  all  over  the  country,"  said  the  fore 
man,  leaning  out  beside  her.  "  No  one  kind  of  wheat 
alone  makes  the  best  flour.  From  as  far  south  as  Okla 
homa,  west  to  the  Rockies  and  north  to  the  Canadian 
border  the  land  has  been  plowed  and  harrowed  and 
planted,  and  the  farmers  have  watched  the  sky,  and  the 
Departments  in  Washington  have  experimented  with 
ways  to  get  ahead  of  the  weevil  and  the  rust,  and  the  reap 
ers  and  thrashers  have  worked,  and  the  train  crews  have 
brought  it  all  here  so  that  we  can  make  the  best  flour." 

Mildred  turned,  her  lips  a  little  apart,  and  looked 
straight  into  the  foreman's  eyes,  —  eyes  large,  long  lashed 
and  as  deeply  blue  as  the  horizon  edge  of  the  ocean.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  they  must  see  not  only  everything  that 
was  before  them  but  also  a  great  deal  that  John  Barton 
would  like  to  have  there  even  if  it  wasn't,  and  that  be 
cause  he  saw  it  so  clearly  it  was  brought  nearer  to  being 
real.  Standing  beside  the  wide  endless  belt  that  brought 
an  endless  stream  of  wheat  grains  from  the  storage  ele 
vators,  John  Barton  caught  up  some  kernels. 

"  See  the  different  kinds."  He  held  his  open  palm 
toward  the  girls.  "  Those  grains  are  Number  One  North 
ern.  We  don't  get  much  of  that.  They  probably  came 
down  from  the  Red  River  Valley.  And  that's  Number 
Two  Spring,  from  Iowa  or  Missouri  or  Illinois.  And 
these  that  are  yellow  or  brown  or  reddish  come  from 
hundreds  of  miles  apart.  It  takes  them  all  in  a  fixed 
proportion  to  make  the  best  flour,  and  thousands  of  men 
and  women  in  thousands  of  places  to  grow  them  all." 

He  led  them  down  through  floor  after  floor  filled  with 
hurrying  machinery  and  showed  them  the  progress  of  the 


68  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

wheat  from  north  and  south  and  east  and  west  as  it  was 
ground  together,  screened  and  sifted  and  bolted,  passing 
from  one  process  to  another  almost  without  human  assist 
ance  like  a  great  cosmic  process,  till  it  poured  itself  into 
barrels  and  sacks  and  started  out  over  new  routes  to  the 
waiting  country,  and  to  the  seaboard  and  the  ships  bound 
for  the  five  continents  and  the  islands  of  the  sea.  Mil 
dred  remembered  the  heavy  freighters  she  had  seen 
swinging  slowly  out  into  the  Atlantic,  and  those  other 
boats  laboring  into  Hull  and  Rotterdam  and  the  gay  ports 
of  the  Mediterranean;  she  remembered  the  little  village 
bakeries  in  France  and  Germany  and  the  funny  Dutch 
children  munching  wheaten  bread  on  their  way  to  school. 
It  might  have  all  come  from  this  very  mill !  And  if  any 
thing  went  wrong  here  the  boats  and  the  bakeries  and  the 
children  would  all  have  to  stop ! 

She  sat  down  to  her  sewing  again  a  little  awed.  It 
wasn't  so  small  a  thing  to  sew  flour  sacks  as  she  had 
thought  —  why,  it  was  important  to  everybody  in  the 
world  to  have  them  sewed  right !  John  Barton  had  told 
them  that  their  part  in  patriotism  was  to  put  in  those  six 
stitches,  drawing  them  tight  and  making  a  knot  at  the 
end.  It  was  just  like  being  a  soldier  or  a  sailor,  he  said, 
only  you  didn't  have  to  wait  for  a  war  to  serve  your 
country. 

By  the  end  of  her  first  day,  Mildred  had  a  curiously 
hushed  feeling  about  her  new  place  in  the  universe.  She 
had  inadvertently  become  a  part  of  a  very  big  thing  and 
she  wondered  if  she  would  be  able  to  do  her  share.  And 
the  mystery  and  romance  of  it  were  so  overshadowing, 
that  she  found  herself  compelled  to  summon  the  thought 
of  her  engagement  and  the  picture  of  Nick,  as  a  con 
scious  matter  of  duty  instead  of  having  them  overwhelm 
her  with  joyous  irresistibility. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  69 

When  she  marched  back  to  the  barracks  after  the 
first  six  hours  of  work  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life,  Mil 
dred  had  a  sensation  of  almost  religious  upliftedness,  as 
though  the  sewing  up  of  flour  sacks  was  a  great  ritual, 
and  the  mill  a  cathedral  with  John  Barton  as  the  officiat 
ing  priest. 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  members  of  the  Forty-second  Unit  settled 
down  into  their  new  home  like  college  girls. 
What  they  were  required  to  learn  was  widely 
different  from  college  work,  but  their  life  was  not  unlike 
that  which  the  founders  of  the  early  women's  colleges 
expected    those    institutions    to   give   the    students.       It 
trained  them  through  actual  work  and  actual  experience, 
and  induced  a  wholesome  democracy  by  the  fact  that  rich 
or  poor,  wise  or  foolish,  the  same  things  were  expected 
of  them  all. 

There  \vere  certain  fixed  demands  on  them,  inescap 
able  overhead  charges  on  time  and  effort,  to  meet  which 
the  rest  of  their  lives  had  to  be  regulated.  To  begin  with 
there  was  that  awful  bell  that  rang  at  five  in  the  morning 
and  lifted  the  reluctant  girls  out  of  their  beds  as  though 
they  were  attached  to  it  by  wires;  and  then  came  the 
quick  scramble  for  the  white  bath  tubs  and  the  scurrying 
into  uniforms  and  the  rush  down  the  stairs  of  those  who, 
being  on  the  second  shift  at  the  mill  and  therefore  not  on 
duty  till  noon,  were  required  to  help  get  breakfast  for  the 
others.  And  after  the  first  shift  had  marched  away, 
there  was  the  clearing  of  the  dishes  and  setting  of  the 
house  in  order,  and  tramping  away  to  the  lecture  hall  at 
one  end  of  the  long  rectangle  of  buildings  for  the  aca 
demic  part  of  their  training  —  lectures  in  good  English, 
in  simple  accounting,  in  politics  and  government  — 
which  they  shared  with  all  the  boys  and  girls  stationed  in 

70 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  71 

Minneapolis,  and  for  a  few  special  lectures  in  the  prin 
ciples  of  agriculture. 

This  lecture  hour  had  an  enchantment  all  its  own,  for 
there  were  the  Service  boys  also,  and  was  it  not  possible 
to  send  soft  glances  across  the  room  —  and  get  them  re 
turned  with  interest  ?  And  was  there  not  also  a  chance  to 
talk  as  they  left  the  class  room?  And  to  talk  meant  to 
make  friends,  and  could  not  friends  come  to  the  big  liv 
ing  room  in  the  evening  and  play  games  and  increase  the 
joy  of  life  generally?  So  the  by-products  of  the  lectures, 
and  incidentally  the  lectures  themselves,  were  exceedingly 
well  liked. 

And  after  the  lectures,  the  girls  marched  back  to  their 
house  again  for  two  free  hours.  Sometimes  these  were 
devoted  to  exercise,  sometimes  to  mending  the  clothes 
which  under  the  assaults  of  vigorous  and  lively  young 
women  developed  such  rips  and  tears  as  kept  Mamie 
Epstein,  wise  in  the  making  of  garments,  in  a  continual 
state  of  complaint. 

"  Say,  the  forelady  didn't  have  no  license  to  leave  the 
seams  go  out  not  fastened  at  the  ends.  If  she  should 
be  working  for  the  United  States,  the  way  our  boss  is, 
she  wouldn't  dast  to  do  it —  understand  me?  Sure 
you  gotta  take  it  out  of  the  machine  and  pull  the  thread 
through  to  the  other  side  to  make  it  stay  good — but  all 
the  seams  of  my  skirt,  ain't  I  had  to  fix  them  over  my 
self  ?  And  every  time  I  wear  my  coat,  a  button  I  got 
to  sew  on.  If  all  the  time  I  gotta  sew  buttons  for  my 
self,  how  can  I  sew  flour  sacks  for  the  United  States?  " 

And  after  the  mending  came  an  early  lunch,  which 
didn't  seem  so  early  to  them  as  it  would  if  they  hadn't 
breakfasted  before  six  o'clock ;  and  the  march  to  the  fac 
tory  where  they  took  the  places  of  the  morning  shift  as 
the  clock  struck  twelve.  For  the  machinery  of  that  gov- 


72  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

ernment  mill  never  stopped  day  or  night,  and  there  were 
four  six-hour  shifts  of  Service  boys  and  girls,  and  three 
eight-hour  shifts  of  adult  workers. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  morning  shift  had  their  classes 
and  their  exercise  and  their  mending  and  their  free  time, 
and  then  all  to  the  kitchen  to  help  the  cook,  and  stirring 
and  mixing  and  putting  into  ovens  and  taking  out  again ! 
For  dinner  in  the  Service  was  a  meal  elaborated  into  three 
courses  —  soup,  meat  and  vegetables,  and  a  dessert,— 
and  this  in  itself  was  an  adventure  to  those  of  the  Unit 
who  had  been  used  either  to  the  desultory  feeding  of  the 
poor,  or  to  the  elaborate  menus  of  the  rich,  and  for  them 
all  it  was  a  training  in  what  a  meal  ought  to  be.  After 
dinner  was  done  they  settled  down  to  their  short  evening. 

And  all  the  time  they  were  talking,  talking,  talking 
together  of  the  things  that  made  up  this  great  new  adven 
ture.  As  they  gathered  round  the  low  lamps  and  looked 
at  the  magazines  and  papers,  Annie  McGee  and  Mamie 
and  Ruth  and  "Winkles,"  a  girl  from  Syria,  and  the  rest, 
pooled  the  varying  interests  and  experiences  of  their  short 
lives  and  handed  them  about,  and  exchanged  them,  and 
thrashed  out  the  things  of  this  world  and  the  next  in  the 
light  of  them.  And  back  of  all  their  talk,  and  in  and 
through  it  all,  was  the  consciousness  of  the  great  mill, 
the  tangible  expression  of  the  work  all  the  people  were 
doing  together.  Through  this  material  thing  John  Bar 
ton  dominated  their  young  minds.  Through  him,  their 
world  grew  wide  around  them,  and  they  began  con 
sciously  to  live  in  the  whole  universe. 

Mamie  Epstein,  with  the  amazing  mixture  of  idealism 
and  narrowness  that  the  New  York  Ghetto  breeds,  saw 
her  little  world  stretch  out  over  all  the  farms  where  the 
"  Krists  "  tilled  the  land  and  wore  the  clothes  she  had 
seen  being  made  in  New  York  by  the  people  who  ate  the 
bread  made  from  their  wheat. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  73 

"  Almost  like  relations  it  makes  us,  only  not  so  much," 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

Winkles  preened  herself  at  the  difference  between 
America  and  Syria. 

"  In  my  country  there  is  always  the  little  mill.  My 
mother,  my  grandmother,  every  woman,  sits  every  day 
to  make  the  flour.  Have  not  I  myself  turned  and  turned 
at  the  handle?  Only  sometimes  in  the  village  is  a  mill 
and  men  to  grind  for  all  who  come.  But  here  is  there 
not  Mr.  John  Barton  to  tell  us  how  to  make  the  flour  so 
that  even  my  grandmother  and  her  daughters  need  no 
more  to  sit  at  the  mill  in  my  country  but  may  eat  of  the 
flour  of  America?  " 

Ruth  Ansel's  world  precipitated  itself  out  of  something 
like  primeval  chaos  into  an  ordered  series  of  interlocking 
operations.  She  considered  thoughtfully  the  way  the 
mill  machinery  was  arranged  so  that  the  wheat  could  go 
about  on  its  own  responsibility  and  with  only  a  little 
supervision  here  and  there  turn  itself  into  flour  and  start 
out  to  the  people  who  needed  it.  She  felt  that  it  ought 
to  be  possible  to  make  the  whole  world  as  automatically 
perfect  as  the  mill. 

Mildred's  world  began  to  have  fewer  things  taken  for 
granted  in  it.  The  people  who  made  the  thread  she 
sewed  the  bags  with,  who  made  the  ominously  whirling 
wheels  in  the  engine  room,  and  the  bricks  in  the  mill 
walls,  might  be  eating  the  flour  from  this  mill.  She 
looked  speculatively  at  the  toe  of  her  brown  shoe,  — 
flour  from  somewhere  had  gone  to  the  man  who  made  it. 
Her  mind  followed  the  various  threads  in  the  weft  of 
civilization  and  found  that  the  warp  that  held  them  to 
gether  was  always  food,  for  everybody  had  to  have  bread. 
As  she  realized  how  important  was  the  thing  she  was 
helping  to  do,  self-respect  grew  in  her,  together  with  a 


74  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

spirit  of  responsibility  toward  her  work,  and  an  enormous 
reverence  toward  John  Barton  as  the  source  of  this  new 
vision. 

All  the  girls  began  to  feel  that  life  was  uncommonly 
good  to  them  and  that  this  new  and  wonderful  experience 
could  not  be  spared  out  of  their  lives  —  no,  not  at  the 
cost  of  marriage  or  money  or  success  or  leisure  or  any 
thing  of  which  they  had  yet  dreamed. 

There  were  bright  days  when  they  would  take  their 
hours  out  of  barracks  and  their  princely  earnings  of  a 
dollar  and  a  half  a  week  and  go  to  the  little  shop  around 
the  corner  from  the  court  house,  where  slim  young 
waiters  brought  them  delectable  imitations  of  French 
pasties  for  ten  cents,  and  ice  creams  for  fifteen  cents 
more,  and  then  if  it  were  crisp  and  cold  as  well  as  sun 
shiny,  chocolate,  very  hot,  with  a  summer  cloud  of 
whipped  cream  on  top.  And  if  it  were  early  in  the  week, 
and  their  pay  still  intact  in  their  pockets,  they  would  have 
another  pasty,  so  rich  and  sweet  and  so  sauced  and 
flavored,  that  they  couldn't  tell  if  it  were  peach  or  plum 
or  berry,  and  certainly  didn't  care.  And  into  that  shop 
would  come  other  Service  girls  and  boys  too,  with  all  the 
accents  of  all  the  world.  I  wonder  if  they  still  come 
there  or  if  another  little  shop  with  quite  other  little  cakes 
has  taken  its  place!  And  then  if  it  wasn't  too  dark  and 
they  still  felt  energetic,  they  might  go  for  a  tramp  beside 
the  Mississippi  just  as  the  aerial  mail  drove  by  overhead. 
This  air  service  which  had  come  during  their  lifetime  gave 
them  a  sort  of  proprietary  joy.  The  morning  mail,  wing 
ing  down  from  Blue  Earth  and  Fargo  and  Moose  Jaw, 
was  too  early  for  them  to  see,  so  they  usually  watched  for 
this  twilight  return.  Ruth  was  always  trying  to  make 
out  a  cousin  of  hers  who  had  been  a  bombing  pilot  during 
the  war  and  still  drove  a  battle  plane  converted  to  this 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  75 

service  of  peace.  Mildred  wondered  if  by  any  chance 
Arthur  Wintermute  had  worked  hard  enough  to  be  ad 
mitted  into  the  flying  corps  yet.  Winkles  and  Mamie 
had  no  more  personal  concern  in  the  airplanes  than  as 
though  they  were  giant  wild  geese  driving  north,  dimin 
ishing  to  the  size  of  pigeons,  then  to  swallows  and  van 
ishing  away  as  the  tiniest  of  gnats.  But  for  all  of  them 
there  was  the  romantic  appeal  of  this  hazardous  calling 
and  the  sense  of  comradeship,  for  as  Mamie  said : 

"If  we  ain't  making  flour  how  can  they  get  bread  so 
they  can  fly  —  understand  me  ?  " 

The  girls  would  stop  and  watch  the  river  and  dream 
quite  wonderful  and  unrelated  things,  and  try  to  put 
them  into  words,  and  fail  utterly.  And  turning  back  as 
the  sun  got  low  and  the  river  went  black  in  its  bed,  still 
talking  on  and  on  of  work  and  play  and  not  a  little  of  men 
and  love  and  marriage.  And  Mamie  would  tell  of  Max 
Ulman  who  was  "  almost  like  a  gentleman  friend,  under 
stand  me?  "  and  Ellen  spoke  with  elaborate  carelessness 
of  an  artist  who  had  asked  her  to  "  sit  to  him  for  the 
hands  "  and  Annie  McGee  boasted  of  a  boot  and  shoe 
clerk  who  called  her  "  Peaches  and  Cream  "  and  was 
"  crazy"  about  her,  but  from  Mildred,  though  she  was  the 
only  one  who  considered  herself  engaged  to  be  married, 
there  came  not  one  mention  of  Nick  Van  Arsdale.  And 
if  it  were  an  emotional,  red  sunset  Ellen  would  grow 
sentimental  over  the  river. 

"  It  does  exactly  what  it  wants  to  do  —  it  goes  where 
it  likes  and  nobody  makes  it." 

"  When  you  don't  ask  it  how  do  you  know  if  it  goes 
where  it  likes  ?  And,  anyway,  where  does  it  go  ?  " 

Mamie  was  always  inquiring  and  accurate,  and  Ruth 
Ansel's  academic  training  usually  helped  her  to  answer. 

"  St.  Paul  is  the  first  place  and  pretty  soon  it  gets  to 


76  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Red  Wing  and  down  where  they  raise  wheat,  and  on 
through  the  corn  belt  and  the  rice  fields  into  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico." 

"  Raising  things  to  eat  all  the  way  it  goes  down,  do 
they  do  it?" 

"  Everybody  eats  such  a  lot  they  have  to.  But  it  isn't 
only  us,  it's'  everybody  everywhere.  That  League  of 
Nations  man  keeps  saying  how  they  need  more  wheat  in 
Greece  or  rice  in  India  or  something,  and  everybody  keeps 
growing  more  all  the  time." 

"  Don't  you  remember  how  there  used  to  be  posters 
saying  how  food  would  win  the  war  and  asking  us  not 
to  waste  wheat?  Mr.  Barton  says  there  won't  be  much 
of  anything  to  have  wars  about  now  that  everybody  in  the 
world  is  eating  together." 

This  philosophy  of  Mildred's  was  a  somewhat  garbled 
account  of  what  John  Barton  had  said  to  her  during  the 
noon  hour. 

"  You  notice  the  world  started  its  get-together  cam 
paign  after  the  great  war,  on  food.  It  didn't  matter  so 
much  the  things  the  delegates  did  or  didn't  do  at  the 
Peace  Table.  They  had  shared  their  wheat  loaf  with  a 
great  part  of  the  world,  as  the  President  said,  and  they 
weren't  going  to  go  back  on  it  —  let  the  lawyers  and  sen 
ators  and  business  men  say  what  they  liked.  It  was  more 
powerful  than  anything  else  —  food  was  —  to  bind  them 
together.  So  when  you're  working  to  make  food  you're 
doing  a  lot  more  to  hold  up  the  League  of  Nations  than 
the  diplomats  that  are  making  international  laws  and  the 
international  police  force  that  tries  to  make  people  keep 
them." 

These  girls  walking  beside  the  Mississippi  felt  the 
weight  of  responsibility,  but  it  was  a  proud  burden  and 
they  stood  straight  under  it.  It  made  that  river  bank  at 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  77 

that  particular  time  the  most  interesting  place  in  the 
whole  world.  But  they  were  still  young  and  burdens  sat 
feather  light.  On  afternoons  when  they  still  had  money 
in  their  pockets  they  were  pretty  sure  to  go  to  a  moving 
picture  show,  and  sit  snuggled  against  each  other's  shoul 
ders  while  equestrian  heroes  rode  horses  more  swift  than 
Lochinvar's.  And  here  they  saw  news  of  the  day  as  it 
really  happened,  —  ships  sailing,  presidents  speaking, 
bases  being  run,  --  and  began  to  philosophize  and 
work  out  new  world  policies  just  as  though  they 
knew  all  about  it  and  nobody  had  ever  done  it  before! 
And  then  out  through  the  door  on  the  sudden  memory  of 
barracks  and  back,  running  through  the  streets,  just  in 
time  to  eat  the  good  filling  stew  and  the  stomach-expand 
ing  vegetable  and  bread  in  quantity  to  deplete  the  wheat 
crop,  and  enough  butter  to  disconcert  the  most  industrious 
cow  —  just  as  though  all  the  sweets  and  ices  of  the  after 
noon  were  still  unserved  to  them  by  the  slim  young  wait 
ers! 

And  if  the  evening  were  fine  some  of  the  girls  would 
drift  over  to  other  barracks  where  they  had  made  friends, 
and  girls  and  boys,  and  sometimes  people  from  outside, 
would  come  to  see  them.  Then  the  games  would  come 
out  and  there  would  be  everything  from  cards  to  crambo ; 
or  if  it  were  a  cool  night  and  everybody  specially  ener 
getic,  the  victrola  would  be  started,  the  tables  moved 
back,  and  there  would  be  dancing.  Once  when  they  be 
gan  to  sing,  it  was  discovered  that  Ellen  Forsythe  had  a 
clear  little  voice  of  such  piercing  sweetness  as  brought 
the  heart  to  the  throat  and  the  tears  to  the  eyes,  and  that 
whether  she  sang  the  new  unrhythmical  ballads  that  were 
good  form  in  the  studios  of  Greenwich  Village,  or  the 
old  songs  that  everybody  loves  because  they  can  hum 
them,  or  even  the  airs  from  a  popular  musical  show,  it 


78  MILDRED -CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

was  all  the  same,  for  no  one  could  remember,  while  she 
sang,  anything  but  the  sound  of  her  voice;  and  the  fact 
that  she  shirked  her  work,  protested  at  everything  and 
every  one  and  stood  as  much  like  a  rock  as  she  could 
against  the  submergence  of  her  own  rather  trying  per 
sonality  in  the  group,  absolutely  faded  away. 

When  real  winter  came  to  Minneapolis,  the  little  lakes 
which  polka-dot  the  city  froze  like  thick  white  china 
plates  and  all  Scandinavia  put  steel  to  its  feet  and  flung 
out  on  the  ice.  Tall,  big-boned  boys  and  girls  with  the 
pale  hair  and  light  eyes  of  the  north  had  their  cheeks 
whipped  to  red  as  they  circled  and  circled  and  swung. 
The  young  Service  recruits  —  such  of  them  as  could 
skate  —  spent  every  possible  moment  on  the  lakes.  There 
was  a  sort  of  freemasonry  of  the  ice  which  included  not 
only  the  boys  and  the  girls  of  the  Service  but  everybody 
on  the  pond  as  well.  Mildred,  swinging  away  from  Ruth 
Ansel,  found  her  hand  caught  by  a  tall,  smiling  lad,  who, 
after  he  had  swung  her  quickly  about,  asked  if  he  might 
skate  with  her.  She  caught  her  breath,  she  wasn't  used 
to  such  simple  .social  ways  —  but  then  everything  was  dif 
ferent  in  the  Service  anyway  and  why  shouldn't  she  ? 

"  I'll  be  very  glad  to  skate  with  you,"  she  answered  a 
little  tremulously,  but  with  all  the  formality  she  could 
muster. 

He  caught  her  other  hand  and  flew  down  the  pond  with 
long,  sure  strokes. 

"  I  saw  you  were  in  the  Service,"  he  explained  as 
though  that  \vere  an  introduction  and  a  claim  to  consider 
ation  all  in  one. 

Another  boy  called  to  them : 

"  Come  on  and  crack  the  whip." 

Quickly  they  were  part  of  a  lengthening  line  speeding 
up  the  ice  again.  Down  toward  the  middle  of  the  row, 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  79 

Mildred  saw  Ruth,  laughing  like  a  boy,  pulling  the  whole 
line  forward,  and  fairly  dragging  a  slender  lad  who  held 
her  left  hand,  off  his  feet.  The  Service  uniforms  made 
up  only  a  small  part  of  the  line;  most  of  the  skaters  wore 
the  gay  sweaters  and  flying  scarfs  and  many  colored 
clothes  of  civilian  life.  It  was  not  so  smart  a  group  as 
might  have  skated  in  Central  Park,  not  perhaps  so  amus 
ing,  but  it  was  far  more  candidly  friendly.  The  line 
swung  forward  at  top  speed,  the  other  skaters  scurrying 
to  the  edges  of  the  pond  to  let  them  by,  and  then  a  group 
of  strong  boys  at  one  end  checked  suddenly,  and  it 
wound  round  and  round  and  round  them  like  a  ribbon  on 
a  bobbin,  and  those  at  the  end  made  the  last  circle  at  a 
terrifying  speed  and  were  shot  into  the  central  mass 
with  shouts  of  glee.  It  was  a  rough  sport  and  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  tumbling  about  on  the  ice  and  screams  of 
laughter.  Mildred  lost  her  partner  in  the  confusion  and 
before  he  found  her  again  they  were  all  up  and  hold 
ing  handsi  and  sweeping  back  down  the  lake.  And  so 
again  and  again  till  the  Service  recruits  had  to  dash  back 
to  barracks  amid  the  jeers  of  those  who  were  younger  or 
older  than  the  draft  age. 

"  Oh  don't  you  wish  you  could  stay !"  —  "  We're  going 
to  build  a  bonfire !  —  a  bonfire !  —  a  bonfire !  " 

"  You  don't  know  what  a  good  time  we're  going  to 
have." 

"  We  don't  have  to  go  until  we  get  good  and  ready  — 
we  don't." 

"We'll  be  back  to-morrow,"  Mildred  called  gayly,  turn 
ing  and  waving  to  the  group  still  on  the  ice. 

As  she  started  reluctantly  on,  still  keeping  longing  eyes 
over  her  shoulder,  she  bumped  fair  and  square  into  John 
Barton. 

"  Oh,  I'm  very  sorry,"  she  cried  flushing.  "  I  didn't 
see  you." 


80  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  I  saw  you,"  he  said  slowly,  eying  her  curiously. 
"  I've  been  seeing  you  for  quite  some  time." 

"  We've  had  a  lot  of  fun,"  said  Mildred,  feeling 
strangely  embarrassed  and  beginning  to  walk  on. 

The  foreman  was  walking  beside  her. 

"  You  really  enjoyed  it,  did  you?  " 

"  Oh,  I  love  to  skate.  Father  taught  me  when  I 
couldn't  much  more  than  walk.  I  remember  yet  how  I 
tumbled  around  on  the  ice  when  we  went  to  the  country 
for  Christmas.  Nick  Van  Arsdale  and  I  have  skated 
every  pond  and  creek  in  Greene  County." 

"  Who  is  Nick  Van  Arsdale?  " 

"  He's  the  boy  who  lives  next  door." 

Never  was  a  literally  true  and  innocent  remark  more 
calculated  to  deceive!  Mildred's  mind  swept  suddenly 
away  after  Nick's  trim  figure  flying  up  the  river  ahead  of 
her.  What  fun  if  he  had  been  here  today!  Nick  was 
part  of  things  like  this. 

"  I  wish  we  didn't  have  to  stop  so  soon,"  she  said  wist 
fully,  looking  back. 

"  But  you  have  to  be  ready  for  the  mill  in  the  morning 
-  that's  the  first  thing." 

Mildred  came  back  with  a  start. 

"  Oh,  I  know." 

She  was  conscious  of  a  faint  shadowy  resentment  as 
they  walked  on  in  silence.  But  then  John  Barton  began 
to  talk  of  quite  grown  up  and  serious  things,  and  Mildred 
felt  that  after  all  he  didn't  hold  it  against  her  that  she  had 
wanted  to  go  on  skating,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  was 
due  at  the  mill  at  six  the  next  morning.  She  resolved  to 
be  more  worthy  of  his  confidence  in  the  future  and  by  the 
time  they  reached  the  barracks  she  was  again  caught  up 
into  the  heaven  of  enthusiasm  for  the  work  she  was  help 
ing  to  do  and  the  man  who  was  directing  it. 


CHAPTER   X 

A  the  Forty-second  Unit  began  to  know  itself  and 
understand  its  own  habits  and  ways,  it  took  it 
for  granted  that  men  and  boys  always  tended 
to  circle  around  Mildred  Carver.  It  was  not  because  she 
was  more  beautiful  than  the  other  girls.  There  was  a 
timid  little  Italian  with  the  face  of  a  Bouguereau  ma 
donna,  and  a  red-haired  girl  with  flaming  beauty  like  a 
conflagration.  It  was  not  because  of  her  wit,  for  that 
faded  timidly  away  before  Mamie  Epstein's  sudden  sallies. 
But  she  had  that  nameless  attraction  that  is  the  indefin 
able,  ineradicable  difference  between  a  siren  and  an  ordi 
nary  woman.  It  was  a  dangerous  birthright,  and 
Mildred  was  to  get  harm  and  joy  of  it  all  her  life. 

One  day  in  the  mill  she  was  slow  in  letting  go  of  her 
flour  sack  as  it  slid  down  the  chute.  There  was  a  cry,  a 
little  spurt  of  blood,  and  then  the  machinery  was  stopped 
suddenly  as  she  held  up  a  bleeding  left  hand.  John  Bar 
ton  came  running,  smothered  her  hand  in  cotton  waste, 
and  half  carried  her  down  to  the  office  where  it  was 
bandaged.  It  wasn't  a  serious  hurt.  Mildred  protested 
that  she  could  go  right  back  to  her  work  —  she  was  back 
at  it  the  next  day.  But  John  Barton  was  surprisingly 
concerned.  He  came  and  watched  her,  explaining  that 
if  it  pained  at  all  she  must  stop,  and  at  recess  he  sat  down 
beside  her  and  after  a  mere  perfunctory  question  about 
her  hand,  stayed  talking  idly  till  work  began.  The  fol 
lowing  day  he  came  again  on  the  same  pretense  and 
talked  on  with  no  pretense  at  all,  so  that  the  observing 

G  8l 


82  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Mamie  Epstein  remarked  to  Ellen  as  they  ate  their  mid- 
morning  sandwiches : 

"  A  crush  on  Mildred  the  boss  has  got  all  right !  " 

"  That  Barton  ?     How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  The  front  of  your  face  instead  of  the  back  of  it  to 
them,  shows  you !  " 

Ellen  turned  calmly  and  studied  the  two. 

"  Grand  wages  all  right  don't  you  bet  he  gets  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  I  suppose  it's  on  the  Civil 
Service  list  if  you  want  to  look  it  up." 

"  Her  chance  to  get  married  maybe  it  could  be.  She 
should  worry  about  work  if  he  got  engaged  to  her !  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  thinking  all  the  time  about 
getting  married!  It's  the  last  thing  I  think  of.  I 
wouldn't  give  up  my  liberty  for  any  man." 

"  Say,  honest  —  you  don't  want  to  get  married  ?  " 

"Decidedly  not!" 

"  But  what'll  you  do?     Ain't  you  got  to  work?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I'd  give  up  my  Career  and  be  a  para 
site  and  let  a  man  support  me?  " 

Ruth  Ansel  joined  them,  her  sandwich  in  her  hand. 

"  To  Ellen  I  been  saying,  a  crush  on  Mildred  Mr. 
Barton  he  has  all  right." 

Ruth  swung  around  and  looked  at  the  two  as  Ellen  had 
done. 

"  I  don't  see  it." 

"  Well  you  can  take  it  from  me.  I  noticed  it  before. 
Maybe  she'll  get  engaged  to  him." 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Grand  wages  he  gets,  don't  he  ?  In  a  flour  mill  there 
ain't  no  slack  season,  is  there?  You  can  believe  me  or 
not,  all  the  time  I  bet  he  works." 

"  That  wouldn't  matter." 

"  Say,  I  guess  you  don't  know !  And  it's  grand  he's 
the  boss  too !  " 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  83 

"  It  isn't  a  question,"  said  Ellen  languidly,  "of  being 
the  boss  or  being  a  mere  hireling.  It's  the  idea  of  his 
being  in  this  sort  of  work  at  all.  I  couldn't  stand  it. 
And  of  living  in  a  new  place  like  Minneapolis  that  hasn't 
any  atmosphere.  Besides,  I  don't  think  there's  anything 
in  it.  She  did  hurt  her  hand." 

Ruth,  who  had  been  watching  them  with  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  twitching,  grinned  wickedly : 

"  Girls,"  she  announced,  "  there's  no  more  chance  of 
Mildred  Carver's  marrying  that  man  than  there  is  of  her 
marrying  me." 

"  Has  she  got  a  gentleman  friend,  already?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  and  I  guess  it  would  get  into 
the  papers  if  she  had." 

"  Such  a  fool  she  should  not  be  as  to  let  a  grand  man, 
like  Mr.  Barton  is,  not  marry  her!  " 

They  went  back  to  their  work,  but  there  was  a  little 
furtive  eyeing  of  Mildred  who  sat  pensively  picturing  a 
world  full  of  beautiful  idealized  industry,  operated  by 
purely  altruistic  workers,  and  supervised  by  Mr.  John 
Barton,  foreman  of  the  mill. 

As  the  newness  of  the  mill  work  wore  off,  and  the 
grind  and  monotony  began  to  appear,  when  her  back 
ached  and  her  eyes  were  tired  and  there  was  no  charm  in 
holding  the  top  of  a  cotton  flour  sack  together  with  the 
left  hand  while  she  put  in  six  firm  stitches  with  the  right, 
Mildred  found  herself  turning  for  consolation  not  to  the 
gay  figure  of  Nick,  which  made  all  this  seem  doubly  dull 
by  contrast,  but  to  the  inspiring  picture  of  John  Barton, 
which  gave  to  the  thing  she  had  to  do  all  the  elements  of 
a  great  drama. 

To  Mamie  Epstein,  John  Barton  was  merely  the  boss 
of  the  mill.  He  was  not  different  in  kind  from  any 
foreman  in  a  cloak-making  factory  on  Twenty-eighth 


84  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Street.  To  Ruth  Ansel  he  was  a  sort  of  human  lubri 
cant  which  smoothed  the  operations  of  the  mill.  To 
Ellen  Forsythe  he  was  an  adverse  potentate  under  whose 
relentless  eye  she  was  compelled  to  sew  flour  sacks  when 
her  temperament  demanded  that  she  go  out  on  the  river 
bank  and  invite  her  soul  in  immaterial  solitude.  But  to 
Mildred,  John  Barton  was  a  beneficent  contemporary 
Prometheus,  holding  in  his  hand  the  processes  through 
which  the  people  were  fed.  If  he  failed  the  wheat  would 
have  been  grown  in  vain  and  men  and  women  would  go 
hungry;  there  would  come  the  disorder  and  dissension 
that  must  arise  among  hungry  people  and  the  small  strife 
that  meant  suffering  and  the  big  strife  that  meant  war. 
But  it  was  plain  to  Mildred  that  he  did  not  fail. 

The  day  Mamie  had  announced  her  discovery  to  Ellen 
and  Ruth,  she  came  and  sat  on  Mildred's  bed  at  night, 
evidently  bent  on  talk. 

"  Say,  ain't  the  boss  elegant !  "  she  began. 

Mildred,  who  was  getting  used  to  Mamie's  vocabulary, 
agreed  that  he  was. 

"I  bet  you  like  him?" 

Mildred  agreed  to  that,  too. 

"  To  get  acquainted  with  a  man  like  that,  ain't  it 
grand?" 

Mildred  felt  deeply  that  it  was  and  began  to  join  in 
Mamie's  paean  of  praise,  and  extend  it,  and  widen  it  out 
all  around,  and  amplify  it  with  excerpts  from  the  doctrine 
he  had  preached  to  them.  And  by  just  the  amount  that 
she  got  beyond  Mamie's  depth,  did  Mamie  measure  Mil 
dred's  interest  in  John  Barton  so  that  she  felt  her  sur 
mises  confirmed  and  certainty  grew  within  her  as  Mildred 
talked  on.  She  would  have  been  more  certain  still,  if 
when  the  lights  were  out  and  the  whispering  had  died 
down,  she  could  have  dropped  with  Mildred  over  the  edge 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  85 

of  sleep  and  found  her  going  through  again  a  little  scene 
of  the  day  before.  The  foreman  had  told  Ellen  Forsythe 
that  if  she  didn't  make  the  last  two  stitches  tighter,  the 
flour  would  leak  out  at  the  corner  and  whoever  bought 
it  would  get  less  than  they  paid  for. 

"  And  the  people  who  buy  these  small  bags  are  usually 
the  ones  who  can't  afford  to  buy  big  ones,  so  it's  harder 
for  them  to  lose  it  than  as  if  they  had  more  money  to 
spend  for  what  they  eat." 

Mamie  herself  had  picked  up  the  bag  she  had  just  fin 
ished  and  examined  both  corners  with  care,  but  Ellen  had 
lifted  her  chin  and  drooped  her  lids  resentfully  as  though 
there  ought  to  be  flour  enough  for  everybody  anyway 
whether  it  leaked  out  at  the  corners  or  not,  and  if  there 
wasn't,  it  was  somebody's  fault  and  a  "  Movement " 
ought  to  be  started  about  it. 

John  Barton,  as  the  source  of  all  this  ethical  light,  took, 
in  Mildred's  dream,  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
Sun  God,  and  as  she  dropped  off  to  sleep  she  was  dazzled 
by  her  vision  of  him. 

Mamie  was  almost  right  in  her  reading  of  the  situation. 
The  long  breeding  of  the  Carvers  for  health  and  beauty, 
their  training  in  culture  and  kindliness,  had  resulted  in  a 
girl  as  attractive  in  a  mill  as  in  a  drawing-room  —  just 
as  lovable  in  an  apron  as  in  a  ball  gown.  So  the  Sun  God 
shone  with  unusual  warmth  in  the  days  that  followed,  and 
Mildred  flowered  responsively.  All  sorts  of  tendrils  of 
appreciation  went  groping  out  toward  him,  and  her 
little  unawakened  soul  was  filled  with  the  sight  and 
sound  of  the  foreman  of  the  mill  as  of  a  godlike  prophet, 
a  bringer  of  light,  a  Theseus  and  Sir  Launcelot  and 
Joshua  rolled  into  one.  He  appealed  to  the  religious  en 
thusiasm  which  is  hid  in  the  heart  of  every  young  girl,  — 
the  fanaticism  that  can  develop  either  into  hero  worship  or 


86  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

passionate  self-sacrifice,  and  can  fill  convents  as  easily  as 
cradles.  And  all  the  wisdom  of  all  the  sages  cannot  tell 
it  from  the  love  of  a  maid  for  a  man  —  until  afterward ! 
John  Barton  was  to  Mildred  the  sum  of  all  the  wonderful 
new  ideas  he  talked  about,  while  Nick,  who  had  never 
talked  about  anything  she  didn't  know  already,  was 
merely  a  person. 

Nick's  letters  had  not  told  her  much  of  what  he  was 
doing,  —  still  less  of  what  he  was  thinking.  If  the 
Service  meant  anything  to  him  comparable  to  what  John 
Barton  had  made  it  mean  to  her,  they  did  not  show  it. 
Instead,  they  were  full  of  the  sort  of  things  she  had 
cared  for  before  she  went  into  the  Service,  —  about  the 
theater  and  who  was  singing  and  painting  pictures  and 
what  her  friends  were  doing.  Mildred  thought  sadly 
that  he  didn't  seem  to  have  any  idea  what  the  Service  was 
all  about,  and  tried  to  hand  on  some  of  the  inspiration 
she  had  acquired  by  filling  her  letters  with  John  Barton, 
—  what  he  said,  how  he  ran  the  mill,  and  how  wonderful 
it  was  when  he  came  to  the  barracks  in  the  evening.  But 
she  wasn't  yet  able  to  set  down  abstractions  with  her  pen 
and  Nick  got  a  vivid  sense  of  John  Barton  as  a  person 
ality  set  in  the  overwhelming  vantage  post  of  foreman, 
and  felt  very  small  indeed  by  comparison. 

As  for  John  Barton,  he  saw  Mildred  as  a  singularly 
lovely  and  intelligent  young  American  girl  of  the  sort 
that  New  England  produces  so  in  excess  of  the  demand 
that  they  wither  in  the  parental  gardens  everywhere,  or 
get  shunted  into  genteel  employments  which  are  not 
much  better  than  this  wistful  withering;  but  who  in  for 
tunate  exceptions,  are  carried  away  into  some  more  emo 
tionally  succulent  field,  where  life  gives  them  experience 
and  love,  and  where  they  bloom  into  the  best  that  this 
country  or  any  other  can  produce.  This  was  the  sort  of 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  87 

girl  that  John  Barton  thought  Mildred  was,  and  he  let 
his  good  sturdy  working-class  dreams  of  an  American 
home  and  children  fix  themselves  upon  her. 


CHAPTER    XI 

MILDRED'S  letters  to  her  mother  greatly  dis 
quieted  that  lady.  She  had  thought  of  this 
daughter  of  hers  as  a  little  female  Joseph 
sold  into  an  urban,  Scandinavian,  Egypt.  Her  heart 
ached  at  the  trials  and  sufferings,  hardships  and  unpleas 
antnesses  that  Mildred  would  have  to  undergo.  She  had 
expected  that  the  girl's  letters  would  be  full  of  inevitable 
complaints  and  was  prepared  to  administer  epistolary 
consolation.  But  nothing  of  the  sort  had  been  called 
for!  Mildred's  work  engrossed  her;  the  other  girls  de 
lighted  her ;  the  mill  rose,  not  as  a  prison  house  where  she 
toiled  unwillingly,  but  as  a  sort  of  religious  center  from 
which  all  sorts  of  beneficences  appeared  to  emanate.  And 
what  was  this  talk  of  being  responsible  for  the  breakfast 
rolls  of  the  whole  United  States?  The  girl  was  merely 
sewing  the  tops  of  flour  sacks  together!  And  all  this 
about  a  Mr.  Barton  who  seemed  to  hold  some  position  in 
the  mill,  —  a  sort  of  taskmaster  under  whom  the  girls 
performed  their  forced  labor.  Mildred  seemed  to  see 
him  outside  the  mill.  Probably  some  man  inclined  to 
presume!  Were  the  girls  allowed  to  run  about  in  the 
city  where  men  like  that  could  talk  to  them?  She  had 
thought  they  would  be  subject  to  galling  restrictions,  but 
it  was  their  extraordinary  freedom  that  alarmed  her. 

And  then  one  day  she  saw  the  old  street  cleaner  on 
Washington  Square  marching  at  the  head  of  a  squad  of 
lads  in  Service  uniforms.  They  carried  scrapers  and 
brooms  and  set  to  work  promptly  picking  up  papers  and 

88 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  89 

putting  quite  a  super-polish  on  the  pavement  that  Mrs. 
Carver  admitted  had  not  been  usual  before  the  Service 
was  established,  though  she  told  herself  resentfully  that 
men  could  have  been  hired  to  do  it  just  as  well  if  the 
Board  of  Estimate  had  voted  the  money.  Her  eyes  had 
followed  the  'gang  strung  along  the  block  until  a  voice 
spoke  at  her  elbow  and  she  turned  to  look  into  the  face 
of  Nick  Van  Arsdale. 

He  was  grinning  like  a  naughty  boy  and  Mrs.  Carver 
felt  herself  quite  out  of  the  supply  of  social  tact  which 
was  her  special  asset. 

"What  —  what  are  you  doing  here?"  she  demanded 
baldly. 

The  boy  continued  to  grin. 

"  I  registered  for  road  making,  you  know,  and  street 
cleaning  seems  to  be  the  kindergarten  stage  of  it.  They 
are  sending  me  south  pretty  soon  to  work  in  the  red  clay 
soils." 

"  Oh,  Nick  —  what  will  your  father  say !  " 

"  He  hasn't  said  much  of  anything  yet  —  doesn't  seem 
to  have  any  remarks  on  hand  to  fit  the  situation." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  he  would!  " 

"  He's  been  down  twice  to  see  me  do  it,  though,  and  he 
objects  to  my  method.  The  last  time  he  pointed  out  a 
cigar  stump  I'd  missed." 

"  Oh, my  poor  boy!  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  Mrs.  Carver.  I'm  liking  it  as  far  as 
I've  got." 

"  Nick,  I  can't  believe  it !  But  will  you  come  for 
dinner  tomorrow  night?  We're  having  people  you 
know." 

The  young  street  cleaner  stood  with  his  Service  helmet 
in  one  hand  and  his  broom  in  the  other. 

'  They  don't  let  me  out  of  barracks  at  dinner  time. 


90  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

They  see  to  it  personally  that  I  am  fed  what  will  make 
me  a  good  street  cleaner  —  stew  mostly!  But  I'll  be 
through  here  about  four  —  might  I  come  for  tea?  " 

Waddell,  the  Carvers'  old  butler,  relieved  Nick  of  his 
helmet  in  a  state  of  bristling  disapproval.  That  a  butler 
should  be  expected  to  serve  a  street  cleaner!  He  had 
known  Nick  since  he  was  a  boy,  but  if  one's  social  stand 
ing  is  not  determined  by  one's  occupation,  the  foundation 
of  the  universe  must  be  toppling.  And  to  have  him  talk 
about  his  work  quite  openly !  Waddell  was  used  enough 
to  gentlemen  who  did  things  for  their  living  that  he  could 
not  socially  approve,  but  he  expected  them  to  maintain  a 
graceful  reticence  on  the  subject.  And  here  was  this 
young  Mr.  Van  Arsdale  boasting  of  what  he  was 
doing! 

"  No,  it  isn't  hard  work  —  not  half  so  hard  as  polo," 
said  Nick,  taking  more  sugar.  "  I  get  six  hours  in  the 
street  and  an  hour  of  setting-up  drill  —  military,  you 
know  —  and  an  hour  of  regular  school  work  every  day. 
-  No,  I  don't  mind  that  part  of  it  at  all.  What  do  I 
mind  ?  —  Well,  I  have  to  make  my  bed  in  the  morning. 
Do  you  know,  it's  some  trick  to  make  a  bed  so  you  can 
sleep  in  it  afterward?  I've  had  more  trouble  learning  to 
do  that  than  anything  else  so  far.  Oh,  I  say,  Mrs.  Carver, 
is  Mildred  getting  on  all  right?  Her  letters  are  jolly 
enough,  but  they're  not  the  way  I  thought  they'd  be.  Of 
course  I  know  she  hates  it  only  she  won't  say  so." 

"  I  don't  think  she  hates  it,  Nick.  She  doesn't  write 
to  me  as  though  she  did.  There's  a  man  named  Barton 
who  seems  to  be  talking  to  her  a  great  deal  —  keeping  her 
amused  and  interested." 

"  She's  written  to  me  about  him,  too.  I  guess  he's 
the  foreman  in  her  mill." 

"  Just  what  has  she  said?  " 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  91 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly.  It's  kind  of  mixed  to  me. 
He  seems  to  be  around  all  the  time." 

Mrs.  Carver  covered  her  anxiety  by  swinging  back  to 
Nick's  experiences. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Carver,  I  have  to  do  other  housework, 
too.  I'm  learning  to  wash  dishes  and  wait  at  table.  I 
wish  you'd  just  write  and  tell  Mildred  that.  Any  little 
points  in  favor  of  my  usefulness,  you  know." 

"  Why  not  write  her  yourself  ?  " 

"I  have!  Do  you  think  I'd  let  a  chance  like  that 
slip?  But  I'd  like  you  to  back  me  up." 

Waddell,  in  a  state  of  theoretic  immobility,  was  never 
theless  detected  in  a  sniff  and  Mrs.  Carver  looked  up  at 
him  speculatively.  He  was  an  imported  English  product 
and  she  saw  that  when  a  street  cleaner  was  not  only  in 
vited  to  tea  but  could  take  such  an  attitude  toward  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  his  world  must  be  in  process  of 
dislocation.  Later,  in  the  spirit  of  humanity,  she  spoke 
to  him  about  the  Service. 

'  Thank  you,  madam,  that  Service,  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
madam,  ain't  no  good.  There's  Wicks,  the  second  foot 
man —  you  may  not  have  noticed  him,  madam.  He 
went  into  the  Service  in  order  that  he  could  vote  — 
something  to  do  with  cutting  trees;  or  not  cutting  of  'em 
it  may  have  been,  —  and  since  he  come  out,  he's  not 
taking  to  the  work.  He  enters  into  conversations, 
madam.  I  caught  him  advisin'  of  Mr.  Carver's  own 
nephew,  friendly  like,  to  go  into  the  forestry,  which  it 
was  a  grand  work,  madam.  And  I'm  only  keeping  him 
on  because  since  the  Service  was  set  up,  footmen  is  almost 
impossible  to  come  by." 

Mary  Carver  had  a  quick  vision  of  what  it  would  be 
when  footmen  were  not  to  be  come  by  at  all  —  nor  maids 
either !  But  then,  no  such  state  of  things  ever  had  been 


92  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

and  of  course  it  never  would  be.  Was  not  Aunt  Millicent 
a  comforting  proof  of  permanence?  The  life  to  which 
she  was  accustomed  was  founded  on  the  fact  that  other 
people  did  the  rough  work  of  the  world.  Her  resent 
ment  against  a  too  socialized  government  grew  as  she 
brooded  over  the  matter.  So  many  different  sorts  of 
things  might  happen,  most  of  which  she  felt  justified  in 
objecting  to,  that  she  gave  way  to  an  impulse,  quite  out 
of  the  family  custom,  and  took  the  train  for  Minneapolis 
without  letting  Mildred  know  that  she  was  coming. 

Mrs.  Carver,  minus  her  maid  and  with  only  a  porter- 
borne  traveling  bag  by  way  of  impedimenta,  settled  her 
self  just  as  the  train  started  over  the  same  road  the  troop 
train  had  taken.  Same  tunnels,  same  palisades  beyond 
the  river,  same  little  boats  bustling  up  and  down!  But 
the  people  in  this  train  were  not  starting  on  the  great 
adventure  of  life;  they  were  merely  swinging  round  and 
round  in  the  eddies  where  chance  had  swept  them.  Two 
traveling  salesmen  talked  loudly  of  the  commissions  they 
had  made  and  the  amount  they  were  able  to  charge  up  to 
expenses.  Further  down  the  car  was  a  mother  and  her 
faded  daughter,  obviously  middle  class.  They  were 
knitting  steadily,  having  apparently  acquired  the  habit 
during  the  war  and  being  unable  to  overcome  it  now. 
There  was  an  elderly  gray  man  in  a  clerical  collar,  who 
seized  the  opportunity  of  travel  to  enjoy  a  little  nap,  a 
trim  husband  and  wife  and  a  subdued  child,  a  limp  busi 
ness  woman  doing  her  accounts  —  a  whole  earful  of 
people  for  whom  life  had  settled  into  grooves.  No 
"  right-about-face  "  would  ever  be  called  to  them  now. 
They  had  no  expectation  that  rainbow  possibilities  were 
waiting  round  the  corner.  Sober  certainties  filled  most  of 
their  world.  Mary  Carver  watched  them  distastefully. 

By  contrast  to  her  traveling  companions,  she  found  the 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  93 

girls  of  the  Forty-second  Unit  comforting.  She  stood  at 
the  door  of  the  sewing  room,  searching  the  rows  of  girls 
for  Mildred  and  was  much  heartened  to  find  them  far 
more  attractive  than  she  had  dared  to  hope.  At  last  she 
discovered  her  daughter  at  the  far  end.  Her  hair  was 
covered  with  a  white  cap  and  she  wore  a  coarse  apron 
from  her  throat  to  her  ankles.  Her  eyebrows  were  full 
of  the  white  dust,  it  lay  smoothly  over  her  little  perky 
nose  and  under  her  blue  eyes,  and  there  was  quite  a  de 
posit  of  it  beneath  her  under  lip. 

But  if  Mrs.  Carver  could  not  classify  the  girls  as  she 
stood  silently  watching  them,  she  herself  in  her  irre 
proachable  broadcloth  and  furs  with  just  one  jewel  at  her 
throat,  was  a  person  they  could  approximately  pigeon 
hole  at  once.  It  was  evident,  however,  that  Mrs.  Car 
ver's  appearance  explained  nothing  to  John  Barton  who 
stood  silently  beside  her  —  that  to  him  ready-made 
clothes  or  English-tailored,  were  all  the  same;  and  that 
jewels  might  be  bought  at  the  ten-cent  store  for  all  the 
difference  he  could  see.  Mamie  Epstein's  startled  "  Oh 
Gawd  "  at  last  made  Mildred  look  up  from  her  work. 

When  she  saw  her  mother  she  jumped  up  and  hugged 
her  in  a  floury  shower,  and  choked  and  cried  a  little,  for 
she  was  very  young  and  suddenly  rather  lonesome.  The 
foreman,  significantly  sympathetic,  gave  her  half  an  hour 
off  and  they  went  out  by  the  Mississippi. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  am,  Mother  dear?"  Mildred 
asked  mischievously,  when  she  had  brushed  the  flour 
from  her  face  and  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  "  I'm  an  un 
skilled  laborer  —  the  kind  you  read  about  in  strikes.  And 
I'm  here  to  'dilute  skilled  labor.'  That  is  what  Mr.  Bar 
ton  told  me.  The  engineers  who  run  the  machines  stay 
right  along  —  Mr.  Barton's  been  here  for  four  years  — 
but  they  only  keep  us  '  rookies  '  three  months." 


94  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Barton?  "  asked  Mrs.  Carver  cannily. 

"  Why,  he's  the  foreman !  He  brought  you  in.  He 
came  from  Maine  and  it  just  fits  him  like  a  fiddle." 

Mary  Carver  felt  that  her  daughter  must  have  bor 
rowed  that  phrase  from  the  man  himself. 

"  And  in  the  barracks,  too,  Mother,"  Mildred  went  on, 
"  we  rookies  are  just  one  step  above  the  vacuum  cleaner 
and  the  machine  that  mixes  the  bread.  It  embarrasses 
me  not  to  be  more  important,  but  it  kind  of  uplifts  me  to 
be  paid  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week  for  doing  work.  It's 
quite  different  from  when  father  sends  me  money.  Do 
I  have  any  fun?  Why,  I  have  two  hours  out  of  barracks 
twice  a  week  when  I  can  do  anything  I  like!  " 

And  this  girl  had  been  used  to  doing  as  she  liked  about 
nine-tenths  of  the  time ! 

"Have  you  seen  Nick?"  asked  Mildred  with  a  little 
self-reproachful  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  did  he  write  you  he  was  cleaning  streets  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  poor  thing  —  how  he  must  hate  it." 

"  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  didn't  seem  to  feel 
that  way  about  it  at  all." 

Mildred  looked  at  her  mother  pityingly. 

"  Oh,  he  wouldn't  make  a  fuss  of  course,  —  he'd  laugh 
and  be  funny,  but  I  know  he  was  just  pretending.  There's 
nothing  in  the  world  Nicholas  Van  Arsdale  hates  like 
getting  dirty  and  having  to  do  as  he's  told.  And  then 
he  doesn't  know  what  it's  all  for." 

Mildred  spoke  with  the  conviction  of  superior  knowl 
edge,  and  Mrs.  Carver  enjoyed  her  assumption  of  pro 
prietorship. 

"  No,"  said  Mildred  with  thoughtful  conviction,  "  work 
wouldn't  suit  Nick  at  all." 

"  He  asked  me  to  tell  you  that  they're  teaching  him  to 
peel  vegetables  and  make  beds  and  mend  his  clothes  — 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  95 

he  said  he  felt  you'd  be  glad  to  know  that  he  was  getting 
trained  in  housekeeping  so  that  he'd  be  useful  in  the 
home." 

"Oh,  did  he?" 

Mildred  was  so  startlingly  noncommittal  that  Mary 
Carver  stared.  Had  the  girl  lost  her  sense  of  humor? 
Had  any  misunderstanding  come  between  her  and  Nick? 
Certainly  nothing  was  further  from  her  intention  than  to 
let  a  mere  technical  refusal  to  recognize  an  engagement, 
break  off  so  desirable  a  match !  But  she  spied  the  thin 
gold  chain  on  Mildred's  neck  from  which  depended  the 
pink  pearl  ring  and  comforted  herself. 

Mrs.  Carver  came  to  the  barracks  that  evening  after 
dinner.  She  wanted  to  see  for  herself  how  her  daughter 
lived  and  to  discover  what  she  could  do  to  mitigate  her 
hard  lot.  But  just  as  Mildred  was  beginning  to  tell  her 
about  the  details  of  the  Service  —  all  the  important  little 
things  that  a  girl  of  eighteen  wouldn't  think  of  putting 
into  a  letter  —  the  foreman  of  the  mill  sauntered  in  and 
with  elaborate  carelessness  joined  them  in  their  corner. 
On  being  formally  presented  to  Mrs.  Carver  he  assured 
her  that  he  was  glad  to  make  her  acquaintance. 

The  talk  between  them  was  simple  enough,  for  Mrs. 
Carver  after  arranging  several  pauses  in  which  he  might 
gracefully  have  withdrawn,  resorted  to  a  rapid  fire  of 
direct  questions  about  things  she  wanted  to  know,  and 
being  a  social  expert  she  got  a  good  deal  of  information 
that  the  foreman  didn't  know  he  had  given  her.  For 
Mary  Carver  had  noticed  the  significant  looks  passing 
between  the  girls  as  John  Barton  settled  beside  Mildred, 
had  surprised  on  his  face  a  proprietary  glance  as  though 
he  were  inspecting  a  precious  possession,  and  seeing  in 
Mildred's  eyes  the  dazzled  gaze  of  one  who  looks  at  the 
light,  she  was  taken  with  a  horrid  fear.  This  was  worse 


96  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

than  the  worst  she  had  dreaded,  and  there  was  no  use 
pretending  security,  for  such  things  had  happened !  She 
rose  suddenly  a  little  breathless. 

"  I'm  sure  Mr.  Barton  will  excuse  us,  my  dear.  I 
should  like  to  walk  around  that  courtyard  which  you 
wrote  me  about  —  the  one  where  you  drill." 

John  Barton  rose  as  though  to  go  with  them,  but  Mrs. 
Carver  held  out  her  hand  with  an  insistently  friendly: 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Barton,"  and  before  he  could  gather 
himself  to  meet  so  much  manner,  she  was  vanishing 
through  the  door  with  her  daughter. 

Mildred  was  too  unconscious  of  any  reason  why  her 
mother  should  wish  to  separate  her  from  John  Barton  to 
know  she  had  done  it ;  but  she  was  distinctly  sorry  not  to 
share  with  her  mother  the  wonderful  things  which  the 
foreman  might  say  at  any  moment,  —  the  things  he  was 
almost  certain  to  say  if  you  waited,  —  about  what  the 
Service  meant  and  why  everybody  ought  to  work. 

Other  girls  were  walking  about  in  the  long  galleries 
that  surrounded  the  courtyard  like  a  medieval  cloister. 
Bits  of  gossip  floated  from  them  to  Mary  Carver. 
Strange  accents  amused  and  distressed  her,  and  not  the 
least  of  these  was  the  accent  of  Mamie  Epstein,  who  came 
running  to  them  in  unembarrassed  certainty  that  she  must 
be  welcome  wherever  she  chose  to  go. 

"  That  your  Mamma  should  come  to  see  you,  it's  some 
thing  grand!  Say,  I  wouldn't  hate  to  see  my  Mamma 
right  away,  you  bet !  "  and  then  as  the  vision  of  Frau  Ep 
stein,  beshawled,  bewigged  and  bent,  came  in  contrast 
with  Mrs.  Carver,  "  Only  it  ain't  like  she  was  like  your 
Mamma  —  understand  me  ?  —  so  young  looking,  and 
beautiful  yet!  A  gentleman  friend  she  could  get  as  easy 
as  nothing  a'tall !  " 

Mrs.  Carver  felt  herself  blushing  in  the  moonlight  - 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  97 

a  thing  out  of  her  experience  for  many  years  —  and 
laughing  a  little  nervously,  but  there  was  no  use  being 
offended  with  Mamie,  her  sincere  admiration  was  too 
evident.  And  when  she  bade  Mildred  good  night,  she 
invited  Mamie  to  ride  with  them  the  next  afternoon,  the 
last  she  was  to  be  in  town,  when  the  girls  had  two  hours 
of  liberty. 

Mamie  had  never  been  in  an  automobile  before.  She 
held  on  till  her  knuckles  turned  white  and  conversed  in 
gasps  although  the  chauffeur  was  an  extra  cautious 
.Swede.  Mrs.  Carver  took  them  to  a  cafe  in  a  tiny  Greek 
temple  beside  a  little  lake.  There  was  an  orchestra,  and 
Mamie,  though  she  was  quite  carried  away  by  the  sensu 
ous  beauty,  could  only  express  her  feelings  by  calling  it 
"  swell  "  and  "  grand."  Mildred  cuddled  up  beside  her 
mother,  more  like  a  little  girl  listening  to  a  fairy  story 
than  a  citizen  in  the  service  of  her  government  or  a  mar 
riageable  young  lady  beset  by  an  ineligible  suitor,  and 
they  were  all  very  happy  until  a  bell  rang  in  the  distance 
and  both  girls  jumped. 

"  Oh,  we're  late  and  what  will  Mr.  Barton  say !  " 

"  Oh,  we  gotta  be  back  at  six  sharp  or  next  week  we 
don't  get  no  time  off !  " 

Mrs.  Carver  was  not  greatly  disturbed.  She  was  not 
used  to  regulations  and  couldn't  see  what  difference  an 
hour  more  spent  with  her  —  a  practiced  chaperone,  could 
possibly  make  to  anybody. 

"  I'm  sure  it  will  be  quite  all  right.  I  shall  take  pains 
to  explain  it  to  the  person  in  charge,"  she  remarked  tran 
quilly. 

"  You  don't  understand,  Mother.  We're  under  orders !" 
insisted  Mildred.     "  No  one  could  explain  it  but  us.    We 
can  only  stay  out  if  the  quartermaster  lets  us  —  you  see 
we're  working  for  the  United  States." 
H 


98  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Duty  to  the  nation  had  been  made  a  direct  personal 
relation  for  them  and  the  immediate  application  of  it  was 
the  need  to  be  back  in  barracks  on  time.  What  could 
even  the  most  dignified  of  mothers  do  but  scuttle  for  the 
waiting  automobile  and  scramble  in  while  Mildred  called 
to  the  deliberate  chauffeur : 

"  We've  got  to  be  back  in  twenty  minutes.  Put  on  all 
the  speed  you've  got  —  or  here,  let  me  run  her!  " 

Before  he  had  got  his  protest  ready,  Mildred  had  slid 
behind  the  wheel,  started  the  engine  and  begun  a  rush 
that  broke  every  speed  law  a  city  ever  had.  Policemen 
scurried  into  the  street  but  she  swerved  around  their 
extended  clubs  shouting  "  Service "  as  she  flew  by. 
Her  uniform  checked  them  for  just  the  instant  it  took  her 
to  pass.  Mrs.  Carver,  moved  by  some  instinct  of  the 
solidarity  of  the  family  that  overcame  her  visible  pro 
test,  leaned  forward  and  assured  the  driver  that  she  would 
pay  any  fines  or  damages  so  long  as  he  didn't  interfere. 
Mamie  Epstein,  pale  and  gasping,  was  so  much  more 
frightened  at  the  idea  of  being  late  than  she  was  at  the 
way  they  turned  corners  on  two  wheels  that  she  didn't 
even  scream. 

It  was  evident  even  through  her  family  reserve,  that 
Mary  Carver  was  accumulating  feeling  to  be  launched  up 
on  her  daughter  at  the  end  of  the  run,  but  they  only  made 
it  by  a  hair  and  the  girls  rushed  into  the  barracks  before 
she  could  loose  it. 

Mrs.  Carver  went  back  to  New  York  with  a  different 
sort  of  uneasiness  than  she  had  brought  with  her.  Her 
mind  was  relieved  about  the  work  that  Mildred  was  ex 
pected  to  do.  It  was  distasteful  of  course,  but  it  couldn't 
be  of  any  permanent  injury  to  the  child;  even  if  it  made 
her  a  little  round  shouldered,  she  would  straighten  up 
again.  And  neither  did  the  girls  in  the  Unit  seem  a 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  99 

serious  menace  —  most  of  them  were  so  very  different 
from  Mildred  that  she  wouldn't  be  affected  by  them.  But 
the  whole  life  was  subversive.  The  distinctions  which 
people  of  her  class  had  built  up  around  themselves 
through  the  generations  and  had  stood  by  rigidly,  were 
being  disregarded.  The  bars  seemed  to  have  gone  down, 
with  the  startling  result  that  though  other  people  were 
not  coming  into  the  sacred  precincts,  their  own  carefully 
protected  young  were  rushing  out.  The  limitations  of 
the  Service  had  sunk  to  unimportance,  but  its  liberations 
appalled  her.  John  Barton  as  a  personal  menace,  she 
was  inclined  to  disregard.  Mildred  would  not  be  long  in 
Minneapolis  and  then  he  would  simply  fade  from  her 
mind.  But  the  state  of  mind  that  could  place  the  fore 
man  of  a  mill  as  the  center  of  the  universe  was  a  terri 
fying  thing.  It  was  not  what  Mildred  did  that  troubled 
her,  but  what  she  was  becoming. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  Forty-second  Unit  of  the  Eleventh  Corps 
of  the  National  Agricultural  Service  had  a 
week  off  with  transportation  home  at  Christ 
mas.  The  dormitory  fairly  pulsated  with  excitement 
during  the  last  few  days.  Interests  that  had  been  sub 
merged  by  the  hurrying  rush  of  the  adventure  of  work 
shot  up  to  the  surface  again  and  there  was  a  drawing 
back  from  their  common  concerns.  The  old  civilization 
into  which  all  of  them  had  been  born  rose  up  and  claimed 
its  own.  What  would  they  do  at  Christmas  time  ?  What 
would  they  eat?  What  would  they  put  on?  Dances  in 
great  houses  or  walks  in  the  ghetto;  rides  in  limousines 
or  on  the  Fifth  Avenue  bus;  boys  who  belonged  to  their 
pre-service  acquaintance  pictured  just  as  they  had  left 
them,  —  not  changed  as  they  themselves  had  changed. 
The  mill,  great  in  its  overpowering  significance,  grew 
unreal. 

Mildred  on  the  homeward  journey  found  herself  think 
ing  a  good  deal  more  about  Nick  Van  Arsdale  than  she 
had  for  the  last  three  months.  Of  course  she  had  had 
letters  from  him,  but  they  didn't  say  anything  about  what 
he  was  doing  in  the  Service,  —  only  about  their  lives 
before  they  had  been  drafted,  and  that  to  Mildred  had 
grown  a  little  dim.  Nick  had  been  set  into  the  back 
ground  of  her  thoughts,  and  when  he  suddenly  emerged, 
pushing  through  the  crowd  at  the  Grand  Central  Station, 
she  flushed  with  embarrassment,  for  she  knew  that  Mamie 
Epstein  saw  him  give  her  the  officer's  salute  with  his 

100 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  101 

slender  brown  hand;  that  Ruth's  intelligent  eyes  recog 
nized  him;  that  Annie  McGee  noticed  how  his  brown 
khaki  arm  slipped  round  her  brown  khaki  waist;  and 
that  Ellen  Forsythe  was  not  five  feet  away  when  he  threw 
Van  Arsdale  tradition  to  the  winds  and  kissed  her.  .She 
tried  to  make  it  seem  to  the  girls  like  a  casual  meeting,  — 
the  merest  accident;  tried  to  shift  out  of  the  telltale  curve 
of  his  arm,  and  get  out  of  the  depot  before  the  girls  made 
certain  of  what  they  must  already  suspect.  Tucked  into 
the  limousine  with  Wicks  and  the  chauffeur  seated  in 
front,  she  found  herself  suddenly  as  shy  and  trembling 
as  though  the  pink  pearl  ring  were  not  still  hanging  from 
her  neck  and  Nick  her  parentally  prohibited  suitor;  as  if 
the  evening  on  the  veranda  had  never  been. 

"  How  —  how  —  did  you  happen  to  come  for  me  ?  " 
she  faltered,  countering  feebly. 

;'  Your  mother  let  me.  Of  course,  I  told  her  I  was 
going  to  anyway,  and  she  laughed  and  said  I'd  better 
take  her  motor.  Oh,  Mildred,  —  I'm  so  —  " 

"  When  did  you  get  back?  " 

''Yesterday  —  I've  hardly  been  away  —  just  down  to 
Virginia  to  work  in  the  clay  soils  a  little." 

"  Poor  Nick." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all  —  I  haven't  found  it  bad  —  and  you 
ought  to  see  me  with  a  shovel  —  I'm  prepared  to  be  your 
gardener  —  Mildred —  dear  —  " 

But  there  really  isn't  any  privacy  in  a  limousine  making 
its  way  down  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  middle  of  the  morning 
—  stopped  by  the  traffic  policemen,  crowded  up  against 
busses  full  of  staring  passengers,  taking  the  wake  of 
vituperative  delivery  drivers,  dodging  under  the  noses 
of  formidable  trucks  lumbering  like  land  whales  with 
their  loads  of  boxes  and  surreptitious  small  boys.  Mil 
dred  laughed  a  little  at  Nick's  pretended  chafing  under 


102  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

the  restraint  of  being  able  to  do  nothing  more  than  hold 
her  hand  beneath  the  dark  fur  robe,  —  but  she  was  con 
scious  that  she  wasn't  altogether  sorry  about  it.  It  might 
be  the  latent  instinct  of  coyness  that  hadn't  had  time  to 
develop  before  their  sudden  passion  came  upon  them;  or 
it  might  be  just  a  touch  of  self -consciousness  that  her 
first  experience  of  independent  living  had  given  her,  or 
perhaps  a  suspicion  of  resentment  that  her  old  life 
should  try  so  soon  to  shut  out  her  new  experiences,  but 
anyway  she  kept  in  an  impersonal  world  till  the  car  set 
them  down  at  her  door,  and  there  was  the  sudden 
scramble  of  Ruthie  and  Junior  past  Waddell  standing 
stately  but  smiling  at  the  door.  There  had  been  no  mo 
ment  with  Nick  alone,  and  when  she  saw  him  again  it 
was  in  the  midst  of  other  people  and  overlapping  excite 
ments. 

For  gayeties  and  pleasures  and  frolics  came  crowding 
on  each  other's  heels,  and  over  them  and  through  them 
and  between  them,  she  and  all  the  young  people  were 
talking,  talking,  talking,  about  the  things  they  had  seen 
and  done  and  the  people  they  had  met ;  telling  those  who 
hadn't  yet  gone  into  the  Service  all  about  it  as  though 
they  were  college  sophomores,  instructing  their  elders  and 
their  youngers  in  a  highly  superior  way,  and  getting  much 
joy  and  much  credit  with  themselves  in  the  process. 

And  what  the  young  of  the  Carvers  and  the  Van  Ars- 
dales  and  the  Wests  and  the  Hopes  and  the  Wintermutes 
did  for  their  families,  Mamie  did  for  the  family  in  Or 
chard  Street,  till  the  prolific  circles  of  the  Epsteins  and  the 
Berkovitches  heard  how  "  grand  "  this  Service  was  and 
how  you  might  be  sitting  on  the  same  seat  with  Mrs. 
Astor  —  understand  me  ?  —  and  never  know  a  thing ! 
And  they  learned  how  there  was  a  lot  of  the  United 
States  besides  the  New  York  Ghetto  into  which  they  had 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  103 

crowded  straight  from  Ellis  Island,  and  other  things  to 
do  besides  "  working  by  suits,"  and  possibly  other  rea 
sons  for  working  than  just  to  make  a  living  —  but  not 
much  of  this  last  doctrine,  for  John  Barton,  who  had  put 
it  into  words  in  Minneapolis,  had  not  been  so  much  of  a 
Sun  God  to  Mamie  Epstein  as  to  Mildred  Carver.  And 
there  was  the  talking,  talking,  talking  in  the  circles  where 
Ruth  Ansel  went,  circles  in  which  the  theory  of  the 
Service  was  indeed  apprehended  intellectually  but  only 
so  far  as  it  concerned  material  things.  And  the  individ 
ualistic  temperamental  groups  of  Greenwich  Village 
heard  it;  and  the  daughters  of  Tammany  Hall  told  of  the 
same  things  in  their  different  way.  Conflicts  with  paren 
tal  ideas  were  sharp  and  flat  all  along  the  line  —  for  shall 
one  encourage  the  young  to  demolish  the  order  in  which 
one  has  learned  to  live  even  if  one  does  not  like  it?  —  to 
cast  reflections  on  the  generation  which  might  have  been 
expected  to  demolish  it  for  itself?  Many  startled  fam 
ilies  took  measures  to  counteract  the  insidious  evil  — 
measures  ranging  from  the  strong  arm  and  the  upraised 
voice,  to  silent  prayer.  Mrs.  Carver,  casting  about  des 
perately  for  some  defense  worthy  of  her  position,  hit 
upon  the  idea  of  a  dinner  dance  to  which  Mildred  could 
ask  her  Service  friends.  What  if  Mildred  wasn't  out 
yet  —  she  was  eighteen ! 

Mrs.  Carver  planned  it  as  the  sort  of  party  she  had 
been  brought  up  to  —  the  only  kind  of  party  the  Car 
ver  family  countenanced.  It  would  be  very  beautiful 
and  very  stately  and  very  costly.  There  would  be  a  won 
derful  dinner,  and  the  most  fashionable  Hungarian  or 
chestra  in  a  flower-filled  ball-room,  and  afterward  there 
would  be  a  supper  served  delicately. 

Several  things  at  once  Mary  Carver  expected  to  ac 
complish,  by  this  dinner  dance.  She  wanted  first  of  all 


104  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

to  show  her  own  daughter  by  a  vivid  object  lesson  just 
what  the  life  she  had  been  born  to  really  meant,  in  beauty 
and  delight  and  the  possibility  of  self-gratification,  as 
compared  with  the  life  in  the  Service  of  which  she  seemed 
transiently  enamored ;  and  second,  to  show  her  how  very 
ill  this  heterogeneous  mass  of  Service  acquaintances  fitted 
into  the  circle  of  the  Carvers  —  who,  after  all,  had  dis 
covered  the  one  perfect  way  of  living.  Mrs.  Carver's 
inner  consciousness  was  wickedly  and  comfortably  aware 
that  that  sort  of  entertainment,  rigidly  persisted  in,  was 
not  likely  to  show  the  majority  of  the  Service  girls 
—  and  she  remembered  Mamie  Epstein  poignantly  —  in 
the  most  attractive  light. 

Waddell,  standing  importantly  at  the  drawing  room 
door  on  the  evening  of  the  dance  was  greeted  confidently 
as  "  Mr.  Carver  "  by  Mamie  Epstein  in  a  green  gauze 
costume  purchased  entire  out  of  a  Grand  Street  window. 
The  memory  of  Mrs.  Carver's  clothes  in  Minneapolis  had 
induced  certainty  as  to  the  financial  position  of  the  fam 
ily,  and  didn't  Miss  Epstein  know,  from  the  Sunday 
papers,  that  a  dinner  dance  among  the  millionaires  called 
for  a  low  necked,  short  sleeved  gown?  So  Mamie  ap 
peared  with  a  coiffure  studied  from  a  hair  dresser's 
window  and  practiced  on  for  two  days,  a  rather  too  high 
complexion,  and  a  calm  conviction  that  her  appearance 
was  all  that  could  be  expected  of  any  one.  Perfect  and 
serene,  she  entered  the  door,  followed  by  a  young  man 
in  an  obviously  hired  dress  suit,  whom  she  presented  to 
Waddell  with  much  impressiveness  as  "  my  gentleman 
friend."  The  butler  was  only  revived  by  the  sight  of 
Alice  West  and  Sylvia  Hope  coming  up  the  stairs  in 
simple  pre-debutante  gowns.  It  was  with  plaintive  grat 
itude  that  he  escorted  Arthur  Wintermute  to  where  Wicks 
waited  to  take  his  coat.  Waddell  could  catalogue  a 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  105 

Wintermute  or  a  West  or  a  Hope,  but  Epsteins  and  Mc- 
Gees  and  Cappilarris,  like  the  Smiths  and  Joneses,  were 
beyond  his  experience.  He  suffered  acutely  throughout 
the  evening.  Think  of  his  having  to  announce  at  the 
drawing-room  door  the  name  of  Mamie  Epstein's  gentle 
man  friend  after  he  had  seen  him  shaking  hands  with 
Wicks  as  a  comrade  in  the  forestry  service !  Except  for 
the  torturing  knowledge  that  such  an  experience  might 
now  be  expected  in  any  American  home,  Waddell  would 
have  given  notice  on  the  spot. 

At  Mildred  standing  by  her  mother's  side  in  the  draw 
ing-room,  Mamie  gave  a  gasp  of  disappointment,  for 
she  was  dressed  in  the  simplest  of  white  dresses  and  with 
no  more  coiffure  than  the  twisting  of  her  blond  hair  into 
a  knot  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  Mrs.  Carver,  however, 
was  more  satisfying.  Here  was  such  a  gown  as  the 
papers  described  as  a  "  dinner  dress,"  here  was  satin, 
here  were  shoulders  and  a  string  of  what  Mamie  hoped 
feverishly  were  "  real  pearls  "  because  she  wanted  to  be 
sure  that  she  had  seen  such  things. 

The  dinner  started  as  Mrs.  Carver  hoped  it  would. 
Out  of  uniform  the  differences  between  the  young  people 
were  disconcertingly  evident.  Looking  around  her  great 
dinner  table,  she  was  filled  with  self-congratulation.  Mil 
dred  was  too  young  to  be  counted  on  conversationally. 
Her  husband  would  be  courteously  attentive  but  not 
necessarily  exciting  to  the  girls  on  either  side  of  him. 
David  and  Winthrop,  whom  she  had  especially  enlisted, 
were  bred  in  the  limitations  of  the  Carver  ideals.  Annie 
McGee  in  a  "  one-piece  "  dress  of  navy  silk  with  a  large 
lace  collar  was  not  easy  in  the  partnership  of  Arthur 
Wintermute,  dark,  slender  and  faultlessly  clothed,  with 
the  kindest  of  hearts,  the  most  democratic  of  intentions, 
but  no  conversational  ability  to  make  them  evident.  El- 


106  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

len  Forsythe  in  a  dull  red  garment  cut  on  the  lines  of  a 
garden  smock  and  with  what  looked  like  a  band  of  petri 
fied  entomological  specimens  around  her  head,  was  ob 
viously  disconcerting  to  Nick  Van  Arsdale.  Winthrop 
Carver,  older  and  socially  experienced,  was  evidently  en 
joying  the  companionship  of  Mamie  Epstein.  Mildred 
had  elected  to  sit  by  the  "  gentleman  friend,"  whose  name 
proved  to  be  Ulman,  as  probably  the  most  difficult  social 
problem  in  the  group.  Mary  Carver  felt  that  things 
were  starting  as  badly  as  she  hoped. 

Waddell,  circling  the  table  at  the  head  of  his  viand- 
bearing  corps,  was  conscious  that  some  of  the  guests 
did  not  wait  until  he  presented  the  dishes  at  their  left 
before  helping  themselves.  Others  suffered  from  an  em 
barrassment  so  acute  as  to  prevent  their  taking  any  food 
at  all.  Constraint  apparently  emanated  from  every  fork 
and  spoon,  and  though  at  first  it  merely  paralyzed  their 
feeding  muscles,  it  quickly  rose  and  tied  their  tongues. 
To  Mary  Carver  the  situation  seemed  an  interesting  vin 
dication  of  her  theory. 

And  then  Mildred  leaned  forward  and  spoke  to  Mamie 
Epstein  down  the  table. 

"  Do  you  think  this  bread  is  made  of  our  flour?  "  she 
asked. 

Mrs.  Carver  was  conscious  of  a  reluctant  and  exasper 
ated  admiration  of  her  daughter.  She  hadn't  reckoned 
on  the  child's  changing  so  much  in  three  months.  There 
couldn't  have  been  a  more  tactful  remark  —  more  loosen 
ing  to  the  ducts  of  speech.  She  might  have  had  twenty 
years  of  experience  as  a  hostess !  For  here  was  a  sub 
ject  on  which  all  of  them  stood  on  absolute  equality  - 
on  which  they  need  have  no  reticences  or  concealments. 

The  "  gentleman  friend  "  swung  round  in  his  chair 
and  concentrated  an  elaborately  courteous  manner  on 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  107 

Mildred  —  a  manner  which  gradually  changed  as  he  saw 
her  not  as  the  "  Miss  Million-bucks  "  of  the  cartoonists, 
but  as  a  young  girl  with  lovely  direct  eyes  and  a  simplic 
ity  he  had  never  supposed  an  attribute  of  the  "  swells." 
Suddenly  Mr.  Ulman  became  an  Othello,  anxious  to  do 
something  that  would  please  and  get  attention,  and  with 
his  experience  in  the  forestry  service  as  the  only  possible 
field  of  narration  —  for  his  position  in  the  bookkeeping 
department  of  the  City  Gas  Company  didn't  present  any 
elements  of  romantic  interest  —  he  began  to  tell  Mildred 
about  finding  a  deserted  cabin  in  the  woods. 

"  And  say,  the  things  that  were  living  there  you 
wouldn't  believe  it !  There  was  squirrels,  of  course,  and 
a  hole  where  a  woodchuck  came  in  —  and  there  was  a 
wild-cat  and  kittens.  Say,  Jim,  how  many  kittens  did 
that  wild-cat  have?  " 

The  question  was  put  to  Wicks,  busily  engaged  in  pass 
ing  a  conserve  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table.  The 
embarrassed  footman  reddened  and  pretended  not  to  hear, 
then  as  the  question  was  repeated,  he  straightened  up  and 
out  of  the  servant  class,  and  as  Waddell  stood  petrified 
with  horror,  answered  clearly : 

'  Three  at  first;  one  got  away." 

David,  hurrying  to  the  rescue  of  the  beleaguered  foot 
man,  asked  what  became  of  the  kittens. 

"  I  believe  they  were  sent  to  the  Bronx,  sir.  There's 
two  up  there  that  come  from  that  way." 

And  Ruth  Ansel  with  a  sudden  tolerance  which  the 
intellectual  aristocracy  does  not  always  exhibit,  said  that 
they  must  be  the  ones  she  had  seen  there  last  summer ;  and 
Alice  West  wished  she  had  seen  them ;  and  Arthur  Win- 
termute  said  he  would  go  and  see  them,  and  under  the  pro 
tection  of  a  general  buzz  of  interest  in  those  wild-cat 
kittens,  Wicks  went  on  passing  the  conserve,  Waddell 


108  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

resumed  mobility,  and  the  trying  incident  was  snowed 
under. 

But  it  had  raised  in  the  mind  of  Mary  Carver  fresh  and 
more  disconcerting  possibilities  of  companionship  for 
her  daughter.  Not  that  Wicks  wasn't  an  exceptional 
young  man  of  upright  character  and  an  efficient  foot 
man;  and  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king  —  yes,  but  not  at  a 
princess ! 

Mamie's  eyes  kept  circling  the  table  ceaselessly  —  the 
people,  the  flowers,  the  dishes,  the  silver,  the  relays  of 
delicate,  unaccustomed  foods,  nothing  escaped  her  at  the 
same  time  that  she  held  up  her  end  of  the  conversation 
with  Winthrop  Carver. 

"  Say,  who's  that  swell  gentleman  sitting  next  to  Annie 
McGee?  Like  a  fish  in  the  face  he  looks." 

"  His  name  is  Wintermute  —  Arthur  Wintermute." 

"  My  Gawd !  To  a  English  Lord  is  it  his  sister  got 
married,  last  year  that  all  the  papers  had  it  about  her 
trousseau?  " 

"  Yes,  Edith  married  Lord  Percy  Elton.  They're 
visiting  here  now." 

Mamie  studied  Arthur  minutely. 

"  Her  picture,  I  seen  in  the  paper.  She  don't  look 
like  him.  Even  if  her  father  wasn't  a  millionaire,  I 
guess  she  could  get  married." 

"  I  guess  most  girls  could,"  laughed  Winthrop. 

"  Well,  it  ain't  so  easy  if  you  live  on  the  East  Side. 
And  you  gotta  be  awful  good  looking  if  you  want  to 
get  an  uptown  feller." 

"  Do  most  girls  want  to  marry  uptown  men?  " 

"  On  the  East  Side  I  guess  you  ain't  never  been,  to 
think  they  wouldn't!  Maybe  you  think  it  ain't  so  bad. 
But  I'm  part  of  it  —  I'm  in  the  show,  and  I'm  going  to 
get  out  of  it.  Before  I  was  in  the  Service  I  thought  I'd 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  109 

have  to  try  and  get  me  an  uptown  feller  like  some  of  the 
girls  had  done.  But  you  gotta  get  a  millionaire  or  it 
don't  do  you  no  good.  You  can't  get  away  with  no  re 
finement  that's  as  good  as  the  genuine,  if  you  don't  marry 
a  real  swell." 

"  And  is  that  what  you're  planning  to  do  ?  " 

The  girl's  frank  scorn  tore  the  mask  from  Winthrop's 
ridicule. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Epstein,"  he  said  quickly. 

"  You  can  believe  me  or  not,  I  ain't  thinking  about  that 
like  I  did!  Being  in  the  Service  I  seen  lots  of  ways  I 
don't  have  to  work  by  shirtwaists  and  live  on  the  East 
Side.  And  I  got  all  the  rest  of  the  year  when  I  work  for 
the  United  States  like  everybody  else  does.  Why,  Mil 
dred  Carver  ain't  got  nothing  on  me  that  way,  has  she?  " 

"  None  of  us  have  anything  on  anybody  while  we're  in 
the  Service." 

"  But  you  wasn't  in  it,  was  you?     You  look  too  old." 

"  I  was  in  the  army  through  the  war.  That's  work 
ing  for  the  United  States,  too." 

"  Would  you  of  done  it  if  it  hadn't  been  the  war?  " 

"  Miss  Epstein,  I  don't  know.  I'm  afraid  not.  You 
see,  there  wasn't  any  way  for  me  to  find  out  about  it  be 
forehand  as  there  is  for  you." 

And  he  tried  to  tell  her  a  little  of  what  the  army  service 
had  meant  to  him. 

Ellen  Forsythe,  further  down  the  table,  felt  that  she 
must  somehow  overcome  the  disadvantages  that  were 
descending  upon  her  in  this  unsympathetic,  bourgeois  en 
vironment.  The  resentment  with  which  she  had  entered 
the  Service  had  not  all  vanished  and  she  wanted  to  get 
back  to  spheres  of  influence  where  she  felt  more  at  home, 
so  she  turned  to  Nick  Van  Arsdale  and  with  a  slight  clink 
ing  of  the  entomological  specimens,  inquired  casually: 

"  Do  you  deep  breathe  ?  " 


110  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Nick  jumped.  He  had  been  talking  round  the  curve 
of  the  table  with  Ruth  Ansel's  brother  on  whose  hockey 
team  he  had  played. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?  "  he  said  blankly. 

"  Do  you  deep  breathe?  " 

Nick's  mind  was  full  of  athletics  and  he  took  this  to  be 
a  new  phrase  on  the  same  subject. 

"  Not  very,  but  I  think  I  shall  get  my  chest  expansion 
up  before  the  end  of  the  year." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Ellen.  "  It  isn't  that!  It's  to  get  inspi 
ration  and  concentration!  It's  psychology  —  really." 

Nick's  eyes  began  to  dance.  The  girl  was  evidently  a 
freak  and  such  a  chance  —  and  then  he  caught  Mildred's 
look,  and  collapsing  under  its  entreaty  answered  Ellen 
with  a  beautiful  consideration  that  made  her  feel  a  little 
goddess  of  wisdom  and  fount  of  inspiration.  None  of 
her  brother's  artist  friends,  nor  the  maned  writers  she  had 
met  in  the  basement  cafes,  nor  the  professional  Bohe 
mians  of  Greenwich  Village,  nor  the  high  school  boys  of 
her  home  town  in  Ohio,  had  ever  roused  such  a  feeling 
of  self-appreciation  in  her.  And  she  was  made  content 
again  with  the  Egyptological  costume  of  which  she  had 
begun  to  develop  doubts,  and  her  content  reflected  back 
to  Nick  again,  to  his  slender  brown  hands  and  his  shining 
brown  hair,  and  his  clear  brown  eyes,  and  he  seemed  to 
her  to  radiate  light  as  though  an  incandescent  soul  were 
shining  through,  and  for  Ellen  Forsythe  Nick  became 
one  with  the  Sun  God.  For  there  are  constellations 
many,  and  Sun  Gods  many,  to  furnish  forth  the  world ! 

Little  whiffs  of  music  had  been  drifting  in  to  them  dur 
ing  dinner  and  when  these  were  followed  to  their  source, 
there  was  the  ballroom  gay  with  flowers  and  Christmas 
greens.  The  music  swelled  as  they  came  in,  and  Nick 
swinging  Ellen  out  upon  the  floor  found  her  dancing  with 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  Ill 

a  grace  and  abandon  that  made  him  forget  the  smock- 
like  gown,  and  rise  above  the  distractions  of  her  head 
dress,  only  hoping  desperately  that  a  large,  blue,  beetle- 
like  object  opposite  his  left  eye,  was  really  dead.  Mamie 
had  been  disconcerted  by  the  fact  that  her  gentleman 
friend  had  not  been  seated  next  her  at  dinner  and  she  was 
further  confused  by  the  fact  that  he  clutched  Mildred  in 
an  almost  frantic  embrace  and  bore  her  into  the  dance. 
This  was  not  the  accepted  conduct  east  of  the  Bowery. 
But  on  Winthrop  Carver's  asking  her  quite  formally  if 
he  could  have  the  pleasure  of  dancing  with  her,  she  was 
comforted.  And  if  this  "  real  swell  "  did  not  hold  her 
so  close,  nor  swing  her  so  fast,  nor  talk  to  her  so  much 
as  one  of  the  East  Side  boys  would  have  done,  she  still 
got  a  great  and  tremulous  pleasure  out  of  it.  David  was 
dancing  with  Ruth  Ansel  —  trying  to  rather,  because 
Ruth  was  built  rather  for  utility  than  grace  or  pliability, 
and  their  efforts  resembled  a  wrestling  match. 

"  Oh,  poor  David !  "  cried  Mary  Carver  to  Aunt  Milli- 
cent  who  had  dropped  in  to  watch.  "  She  is  walking  all 
over  both  his  feet  at  once.  What  an  awful  time  her 
mother  will  have  making  her  '  go  '  after  she's  out !  " 

Aunt  Millicent  considered  Ruth  drastically. 

"  My  dear  Mary,  that  girl  is  out  now  as  much  as  she 
will  ever  be.  She's  not  the  sort  that  goes  to  anything 
but  dances  at  clubs  or  hotels  or  things  like  that.  Except 
for  meeting  Mildred  in  the  Service  she  couldn't  possibly 
have  been  here." 

Mrs.  Carver's  spirits  were  reviving.  The  accomplish 
ment  of  dancing  was  evidently  too  full  of  the  pitfalls  of 
different  methods  to  be  socially  smooth.  This  ought 
to  make  plain  to  Mildred  what  she  felt  the  dinner  itself 
had  failed  to  do  —  what  she  herself  had  not  had  the  cour 
age  to  put  into  words. 


112  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  Well,  I  think  she's  having  a  good  time  now." 

Aunt  Millicent  turned  at  the  tone  and  found  her  se 
renely  smiling. 

"  So  that's  it !  I  suppose  one  may  be  catty  in  a  good 
cause." 

Andrew  Carver  on  his  way  to  a  later  engagement  ap 
peared  at  the  ballroom  door  with  Apperson  Forbes  beside 
him.  Mildred  ran  across  to  her  great-uncle  —  a  lovely 
Artemis  in  a  cloud  of  white  —  and  quite  casually  smiled 
at  Apperson  Forbes,  such  a  sweet,  frank  smile,  and  was  so 
overwhelmingly  lovely  as  she  did  it,  that  looking  into  her 
eyes  which  were  almost  on  a  level  with  his,  he  felt  a  cold 
prickling  in  his  long  stiff  spine. 

Old  Andrew's  eyes  twinkled  as  they  traveled  round  the 
room.  No  pleasing  eccentricity  of  costume  or  pretense 
of  elegance  escaped  him.  Even  so  mild  an  adventure 
was  a  delight. 

"  I'm  afraid  these  young  people  don't  fit  their  steps  very 
well,"  he  chuckled  to  Aunt  Millicent,  "  but  what's  that 
they're  doing  now?  " 

David's  voice  came  across  the  room. 

"  A  batch  of  Hungarians  that  we  had  in  a  concentra 
tion  camp  did  it  like  that  —  it  isn't  the  Czardas  exactly  - 
more  rudimentary  and  lots  more  fun.  I  got  them  to 
teach  me  —  most  of  the  company  learned.  The  advan 
tage  is  that  you  can  do  it  without  any  other  music  than 
a  drum." 

The  young  people  formed  about  him  as  he  stamped  and 
glided  and  kicked  across  the  floor.  And  then  Ruth  An 
sel  tried  to  follow  and  almost  fell  over  her  own  feet,  and 
Mildred  set  her  hands  on  her  hips  and  began,  and  Arthur 
Wintermute  and  Nick ;  and  finally  Ellen  Forsythe  slid  out 
upon  the  floor  and  the  steps  and  the  stamps  and  the  glides 
and  the  strange  five-four  time  seemed  things  she  had 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  113 

been  born  to,  and  the  red  smock  floated  out  and  the  beads 
and  the  trophies  clanked,  and  she  was  a  new  dancer  danc 
ing  a  new  dance  and  quite  surprisingly  lovely  as  she  did 
it.  And  they  all  tried  it  again  and  again  and  the  orches 
tra  leader  who  had  a  soul  above  the  one-step,  tucked  his 
violin  under  his  chin  and  evolved  out  of  his  inner  con 
sciousness  a  melody  in  the  elusive  rhythm  —  or  perhaps 
he  had  brought  it  from  some  Hungarian  village,  —  and 
came  out  from  behind  his  screen  of  palms,  a  lambent- 
eyed  figure  who  kept  the  time  with  a  tapping  heel. 

It  was,  he  told  them,  a  dance  of  the  peasants  in  the 
little  villages  of  the  Carpathians.  A  dance  around  the 
fire  in  the  evening,  and  danced  together  by  the  master  and 
the  servant,  and  even  by  the  lord  from  the  castle,  some 
times  when  he  was  a  boy.  And  they  all  stamped  and 
glided  and  snapped  their  fingers  in  the  air  as  they  spun 
around.  Mamie  Epstein's  fat  little  legs  and  Ruth  An 
sel's  long  shambling  ones,  the  gentleman  friend's  rented 
coat  tails  cutting  up  the  same  capers  in  the  air  as  Nick 
Van  Arsdale's  superlative  clothes.  And  then  the  leader 
of  the  orchestra  —  he  seemed  hardly  to  touch  the  violin  to 
make  the  music  come  —  cried  exultantly : 

"  See  it  is  the  morning  of  the  day  and  the  hunters  leave 
their  sweethearts  for  the  chase  —  see  all !  "  and  he  caught 
Mildred  round  the  waist  and  swung  her  swiftly  in  fare 
well. 

"See  all!" 

And  Nick  caught  the  girl  nearest  him,  and  David 
valiantly  swung  Ruth  Ansel,  and  the  room  was  filled  with 
whirling  skirts. 

"  Now,"  cried  the  violinist,  "  it  is  the  music  of  the 
hunt,"  and  he  began  a  smooth,  racing  melody  which  the 
rest  of  his  orchestra,  stepping  out  from  behind  the  palms, 
carried  on  as  he  led  the  men  round  in  the  swift  rush  of 


114  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

the  syncopated  five-four  gliding,  stamping,  step,  while 
the  girls  pressed  back  against  the  wall.  He  changed  the 
rhythm  and  the  men  stopped,  panting.  Now,  he  told 
them,  it  was  the  village  at  the  close  of  the  day,  and  there 
came  the  song  of  the  mothers  to  their  babies  and  then  way 
off  in  the  distance  the  return  of  the  hunters.  The  young 
men  stirred  again  without  waiting  for  the  leader  as  the 
rhythm  grew  faster.  Nick  started  it  and  the  others  fol 
lowed,  and  as  they  passed  Wicks,  stationed  immovable 
beside  Waddell  at  the  door,  he  too  swung  forward  with 
the  intoxication  of  it  all,  till  the  butler  caught  him  by  the 
arm. 

Old  Andrew's  dapper  little  feet  stirred  in  his  perfect 
pumps,  his  old  blood  quickened  in  his  veins ;  he  too  was 
a  young  man  again  in  his  heart  —  almost  in  his  body  — 
and  past  joys  rose  in  him. 

The  bonds  family  tradition  had  set  on  him  were 
loosed  here  at  their  very  source  —  the  freedom  which  he 
had  evaded  the  family  to  enjoy,  was  here  at  the  fountain 
head.  Looking  back,  Old  Andrew  thought  himself  none 
the  worse  for  his  catholic  enjoyments,  so  why  should 
other  people  be  the  worse  for  them  ? 

Apperson  Forbes,  too,  was  touched  with  the  intoxica 
tion  but  his  feet  stiffened  in  his  boots,  his  fingers  threaded 
themselves  stiffly  in  resistance.  In  the  ordered  universe 
which  he  understood,  emotions  and  freedoms  were  ex 
pected  to  stay  rigidly  in  the  pigeon  homes  where  they 
belonged. 

The  hunting  song  swelled  higher  and  the  returning 
hunters  whirled  their  sweethearts  to  the  quickening  beat 
of  the  music  and  then  on  round  and  round  and  round  the 
imaginary  fire  in  the  imaginary  village  in  the  imaginary 
hills,  till  the  very  Carpathians  seemed  to  rise  and  shelter 
them  and  the  streams  came  tumbling  over  the  rocks ;  till 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  115 

every  long  corseted  impulse  of  these  children  of  princes 
and  peasants  were  loosed,  and  each  boy's  arm  was  round 
the  waist  of  his  real  sweetheart,  and  each  girl's  hand  in 
that  of  her  real  lover  as  the  wild  music  with  its  unfettered 
rhythm  carried  them  on  and  on.  And  then  from  the 
freedom  of  the  edge  of  the  world,  the  subtly  changed 
beat  of  the  music  brought  them  into  the  age-old  Teutonic 
waltz  —  the  same  soothing  swing  that  the  northern 
hordes  carried  into  Spain  and  over  into  Egypt  and  left 
as  a  precious  gift  to  their  Scandinavian  neighbors  and 
their  Celtic  subjects,  and  the  key  rose  from  maddening 
minor  cadences  up  to  the  serene  major,  and  the  wild  mel 
ody  was  tamed,  and  chained,  and  faltered  and  died  away, 
—  and  they  were  all  back  in  Mrs.  Carver's  ballroom  again 
with  a  still  orchestra  sitting  behind  palms! 

Mary  Carver  bade  her  guests  good-night  wearily.  As 
an  example  of  how  impossible  it  was  to  mix  young  people 
of  divergent  traditions  into  a  smooth  social  paste;  of  how 
much  better  the  Carvers'  way  of  life  was  than  any  other 
way;  of  how  the  democratic  ideals  of  the  Service  were 
socially  inapplicable,  the  dinner  dance  had  failed. 

And  to  crown  it  all,  the  next  morning  as  Mildred  was 
leaving  to  go  back  to  Minneapolis,  she  loosed  the  slender 
chain  from  her  neck  on  which  hung  the  pink  pearl  ring. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  will  you  take  care  of  this,  please? 
It's  really  in  the  way." 


CHAPTER    XIII 

BEFORE  the  Minnesota  winter  had  loosened  its 
grip,  a  fresh  band  of  recruits  from  the  Pacific 
Coast  came  to  take  the  places  of  the  Forty- 
second  Unit  and  Mildred  and  her  friends  were  sent  to 
the  field  work.  They  said  good-by  to  the  flour  mill  with 
considerable  regret.  It  had  been  their  introductory  par 
agraph  in  the  book  of  work  and  they  had  an  affection  for 
it.  The  hurrying  belts  and  wheels,  the  clanking,  roaring 
machines,  the  flying  white  dust  were  all  unlovely  enough, 
but  the  big  thing  that  they  represented,  the  girls  had  found 
good. 

John  Barton  saw  them  off  at  the  train,  an  action  so 
unusual  that  Quartermaster  Alice  Farrington,  who  had 
taken  successive  relays  of  Service  girls  away  from  the 
mill,  leaned  from  the  car  window  to  watch  him  specu- 
latively. 

Straight  down  the  Mississippi  Valley  they  went,  out 
of  the  region  of  tall  Scandinavians,  down  through  the 
farms  taken  up  by  the  "  homesteaders  "  from  New  Eng 
land  searching  for  land  with  a  smaller  percentage  of  raw 
rock  and  a  longer  "  growing  season,"  on  through  the 
thrifty  German  settlements  along  the  great  waterways, 
through  the  farms  of  the  "  poor  white  "  invasion  from  the 
hills  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  —  to  an  old  army  can 
tonment  on  the  edge  of  Oklahoma  which  had  been  trans 
formed  into  an  Agricultural  Training  Camp. 

Here,  before  the  frost  was  out  of  the  ground,  they 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  117 

were  given  their  first  lessons  in  the  care  and  handling  of 
farm  machinery. 

Ruth  Ansel  standing  before  a  bench  in  the  repair  shed 
and  carefully  wiping  with  cotton  waste  the  links  of  a 
chain  to  be  refitted  over  the  sprocket  wheel  of  a  tractor, 
looked  up  suddenly  to  see  Ellen  Forsythe  drop  the  oil  can 
she  was  trying  to  fill  and  press  two  small,  greasy  hands 
over  brimming  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  cried,  striding  around  to 
the  other  side  of  the  work  bench  and  putting  a  strong  arm 
across  Ellen's  shaking  shoulders. 

"  I  can't  get  the  oil  in  —  it  won't  go  —  the  hole  is  too 
little  —  I've  spilled  it  over  everything  —  I  —  I  —  just 
can't." 

"Oh,  bosh!" 

Ruth  caught  up  the  can  and  unscrewed  the  top. 

"  Here,  take  it  apart  like  this  —  no,  turn  it  the  other 
way,  a  screw  doesn't  turn  like  that!  Here  —  hold  it 
in  your  right  hand  and  turn  it  so !  —  There  —  now  use 
that  funnel.  What's  a  funnel?  Why  that  thing  there 
like  a  Victrola  horn  —  little  end  in  here  —  that's  it. 
Now  I'll  hold  it  and  you  pour  the  oil.  Not  so  fast! 
Oh,  Ellen,  you've  run  it  all  over  the  top !  Well,  take  it 
over  to  the  engineer  and  I'll  sop  it  up.  —  But  what's  the 
use  of  being  such  a  dub  —  you  don't  think  what  you're 
doing!" 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  about  things  like  this !  "  said 
Ellen  resentfully  as  she  carried  the  oil  can  over  to  where 
a  tractor  with  its  attendant  plows  was  being  overhauled 
under  the  supervision  of  the  engineer. 

Mildred,  in  overalls,  was  polishing  the  brass  fittings, 
her  cheeks  pink  and  her  lips  a  little  apart  with  the  excite 
ment.  Mamie  was  kneeling  on  the  floor,  her  quick  hands 
moving  about  the  cylinders  —  one  girl  was  struggling 


118  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

with  a  wrench  —  another  with  some  lubricating  graphite. 
At  the  flour  mill  they  had  sat  sedately  on  proper  seats 
and  used  that  traditionally  feminine  tool,  the  needle,  en 
countering  no  worse  dirt  than  flour  —  i,o\v  they  were 
expected  to  work  with  wrenches  and  pliers,  with  oil  cans 
and  lubricants  —  to  do  ill-smelling  jobs  with  black,  greasy 
rags  and  polishes  and  cleaners  and  disconcerting  com 
pounds.  They  blacked  their  hands  and  jagged  their 
finger  nails  and  acquired  the  compulsory  working  class 
habit  of  wiping  their  hands  on  their  nether  garments  and 
rubbing  their  noses  with  their  wrists  —  for  shall  one 
smear  a  real  complexion  with  lubricating  graphite  ?  They 
were  no  longer  fine  upstanding  human  beings  —  they  be 
came  turners  and  twisters  under  wheels  and  about  boilers ; 
headlong  divers  into  the  midst  of  tangles  of  machinery; 
grovellers  under  car  bodies.  It  was  as  though  they  had 
gone  scampering  back  along  the  path  of  evolution, 
through  the  quadrupedal  stage  to  the  age  of  worms. 

After  the  "  washing  up  "  the  first  night,  Ellen  Forsythe 
threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  began  to  cry.  She  was  a 
humorous  little  figure  much  too  slender  for  the  overalls 
that  had  been  dealt  out  to  her;  with  her  bobbed  hair  fall 
ing  forward  over  her  ears,  and  her  narrow  shoulders 
shaking  as  she  sobbed. 

"  Look !  "  she  cried  tragically,  taking  her  hands  from 
her  face  and  holding  them  out,  "  Just  look!  " 

They  were  small  hands  —  small  and  weak.  Each  fin 
ger  was  smooth  and  round  and  delicately  pointed,  the 
palms  sloped  away  quite  suddenly  toward  the  wrists  — 
lovely  clinging  hands,  but  not  much  good  to  work  with. 
They  had  stood  her  fairly  well  in  the  mill,  but  now  as  she 
held  them  out  trembling,  the  narrow  nails  were  black  and 
broken,  they  were  bruised  and  scratched  and  blisters  were 
beginning  to  rise.  Ellen,  looking  at  them,  began  to  sob 
afresh. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  119 

"  Well,  what  of  it?  "  inquired  Ruth  with  a  disconcert 
ing  young  sternness. 

"  Is  it  that  they  hurt  you?  "  inquired  Mamie  Epstein 
sympathetically.  "  Say,  I  guess  if  you  was  to  tell  the 
doctor  —  " 

"  Oh,  no  —  I  don't  mind  that!  I  could  stand  pain  — 
it's  ennobling  —  but  look  at  them,  they'll  never  be  right 
again,  never,  never! "  and  she  pressed  them  over  her 
streaming  eyes. 

"  But,  Ellen,"  Mildred  began  argumentatively,  "  You 
don't  need  to  get  them  as  bad  as  that.  I  only  broke  one 
nail  —  that  was  cleaning  the  chain." 

"  Maybe  you  didn't,  but  I  can't  help  it  —  everything 
hits  me  —  and  things  drop  on  me,  and  the  wheels  turn 
when  I  don't  think  they  will !  And  everything !  " 

"But  Ellen  —  you  mustn't  let  them  —  you  must 
watch !  " 

"  I  can't  watch  things  like  that  —  I  don't  care  about 
them;  they  don't  interest  me  —  Oh,  I  hate  it  all !  " 

The  quartermaster  seeing  some  trouble  came  and  patted 
Ellen  on  the  shoulder  and  put  lotion  on  the  bruises  and 
court  plaster  on  the  scratches  and  generally  did  what  she 
could,  but  the  girl  was  disconsolate.  And  when  she  was 
given  a  lesson  in  running  the  tractor  she  fared  even  worse 
—  levers  and  gears  and  speeds  were  nothing  to  her  — 
she  couldn't  focus  her  mind  on  them.  She  did  every 
thing  unfortunate  except  fall  off.  It  was  a  nightmare 
week  to  her.  Her  helpless  hands  were  the  fit  expression 
of  her  helpless  mind  so  far  as  all  machinery  was  con 
cerned.  The  instructors  instructed  and  the  girls  plead  in 
vain  and  so  Ellen  was  transferred  from  the  Agricultural 
camp  and  sent  as  assistant  to  the  postmaster  of  Central 
City,  Iowa. 

Mamie  herself  was  not  having  an  easy  time.     She  tried 


120  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

conscientiously,  but  the  actual  running  of  the  tractor  was 
beyond  her. 

"  It's  like  this  —  see  ?  —  on  the  lever  you  push  to  make 
it  go,  I  gotta  get  my  foot,  and  I  gotta  stand  up  to  do  it- 
see?     I  dassent  sit  on  the  seat  only  when  I  want  to  stop, 
and  then  I  don't  have  to  sit  there  —  see  ?  " 

But  if  Mamie  couldn't  run  the  tractor  in  any  way  that 
seemed  to  further  the  food  production  of  the  nation;  the 
environment  she  had  grown  up  in  had  made  her  a  won 
derful  cleaner  of  machinery.  When  Mamie  had  cleaned 
a  tractor,  you  could  know  that  it  was  clean  —  that  its 
tanks  and  oil  cups  were  full  and  that  it  was  ready  to  go  in 
to  the  fields  the  next  morning.  Hadn't  she  known  what  it 
was  to  keep  a  power-driven  sewing  machine  with  all  its 
attachments  up  to  the  mark?  Yes,  Miss  Mamie  Epstein 
made  herself  a  valuable  agriculturist  although  she  was 
hampered  by  all  sorts  of  scientific  ignorances.  What 
made  a  steam  engine  go  she  had  no  more  idea  of  than  the 
mother  of  Robert  Fulton.  What  made  gasoline  do  any 
thing  beyond  cleaning  gloves  she  had  never  even  con 
sidered.  Mildred  and  Ruth  already  knew  how  to  run 
automobiles  and  had  no  trouble  learning  to  run  tractors. 

A  week  in  the  Agricultural  Training  Camp,  and  they 
were  all  sent  to  a  great  Oklahoma  ranch.  There  were 
sixteen  girls  in  the  agricultural  unit  of  fifty  workers  — 
sixteen  girls,  twenty  boys  and  fourteen  professional  farm 
laborers,  men  who  had  been  through  the  training  as  re 
cruits  and  had  chosen  to  go  on  in  this  part  of  the  govern 
ment  service. 

They  got  to  their  barracks  early  in  the  day,  and  looked 
out  over  a  great  rolling  prairie  not  yet  wakened  to  the 
faintest  film  of  spring  green. 

"If  you  was  to  ask  me,  I'd  say  there  was  no  place  for 
so  much  of  anything  to  come  from !  "  cried  Mamie. 


MILDREJ  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  121 

"  God  is  supposed  to  have  made  it,"  said  Mildred, 
laughing. 

She  was  a  little  shocked  at  her  own  daring  in  speaking 
of  God  —  a  merely  formal  church  acquaintance  —  so 
casually. 

"If  Ellen  were  here,  she'd  object  to  the  mere  theory 
of  His  being  concerned  in  it,"  commented  Ruth. 

"  Well,  my  Mamma  says  it's  ignorant  not  to  believe 
things  like  that.  You  can  prove  it  by  that,  nobody  told 
you  nothing." 

The  girls  fell  silent.  Speculations  about  religion  were 
still  for  all  of  them  things  to  be  entertained  furtively, 
knocking  wood  the  while,  lest  some  offended  deity  stand 
ready  to  punish  the  unspoken  thought. 

"Whadda  you  think  we  are  going  to  do  to  it  ?  "  inquired 
Mamie,  waving  inclusive  hands  at  everything  in  sight. 

"  Plow  it,  I  suppose,"  answered  Ruth  slowly.  "  Don't 
you  remember  what  the  man  who  lectured  to  us  in  Min 
neapolis  said  about  subsoiling  and  fertilizing  and  harrow 
ing  and  seed  beds  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Gawd !  "  said  Mamie,  awestruck.  "  Have  I 
gotta  do  all  that !  " 

Mildred  remembered  suddenly  that  Nick  must  be  some 
where  in  this  part  of  the  world  —  he  had  written  that 
they  were  putting  him  on  the  real  roadmaking  at  last  and 
sending  him  to  the  Southwest.  It  came  over  her  how 
little  she  had  seen  of  Nick  during  her  vacation;  there 
hadn't  been  an  hour  they  had  had  alone.  She  didn't 
know  much  of  what  he  had  been  doing  and  nothing  at 
all  of  how  he  felt  about  it,  but  she  thought  she  knew. 

Poor  Nick !  He  didn't  see  this  great  business  of  work 
ing  for  the  United  States  as  she  did  —  he  couldn't !  No 
body  like  John  Barton  had  ever  explained  it  to  him.  It 
was  going  to  be  pretty  hard  to  make  him  understand  how 


122  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

she  saw  it  even  after  they  got  back  and  were  married. 
The  prospect  appalled  her. 

The  next  morning  an  automobile  bus  carried  them  to 
the  field  where  the  tractors  waited  for  them  to  begin 
work.  It  is  one  thing  to  run  a  tractor  round  and  round 
the  practice  field  in  the  cantonment,  and  quite  another 
to  start  off  over  the  prairies  on  one's  own  responsibility 
with  the  great  rumbling  machine. 

Mildred  found  herself  on  the  second  tractor  in  her 
field,  following  the  trained  driver;  and  followed  in  turn 
by  a  boy  named  Wilcox  from  San  Francisco,  who  had 
joined  them  from  another  training  camp.  She  was  so 
excited  that  her  hands  shook  and  she  wondered  if  she 
could  ever  remember  which  levers  did  which  things  and 
how  to  work  them.  And  as  she  settled  into  her  seat  and 
got  her  knickerbockered  legs  free  for  their  work  on  the 
levers,  she  had  a  sudden  heartsinking  at  the  thought  of 
the  first  corner  and  how  she  was  going  to  turn  it  square 
and  trim,  just  at  the  moment  when  the  leader  turned  it 
ahead  of  her.  She  didn't  have  time  to  be  afraid  —  al 
most  automatically  she  started  her  motor,  threw  in  the 
clutch  and  the  tractor  began  to  crawl  ahead.  She  said 
over  to  herself  part  of  a  letter  she  had  had  from  John 
Barton  that  day. 

"  The  field  work  isn't  any  harder  than  sewing  flour 
sacks  —  when  you  get  used  to  it.     It's  all  part  of  the  big 
drive  to  get  the  people  fed  —  the  most  important  thing 
in  the  world !  "     That's  what  she  was  going  to  do  — 
"  The  most  important  thing  in  the  world!  " 

Mildred  had  never  been  so  excited  in  her  life  —  not 
when  the  canoe  capsized  with  her,  not  when  she  was  al 
lowed  to  come  in  for  a  moment  before  dinner  and  be  pre 
sented  to  the  President  of  the  United  States,  not  when 
Nick  first  kissed  her  in  the  moonlight !  That  her  tractor 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  123 

should  follow  the  car  ahead  evenly  and  at  the  proper 
distance  seemed  "  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world." 
Her  lips  were  parted  for  her  hurrying  breath,  her  hands 
held  the  wheel  so  tight  that  they  hurt  her ;  she  was  shaken 
by  an  inward  trembling. 

Her  machine  seemed  to  yaw  and  gee  like  a  sail  boat  but 
she  kept  it  following  after  —  sometimes  she  saw  that  it 
overlapped  the  trail  of  the  leader  and  replowed  the  land 
—  sometimes  it  swung  to  the  left  and  there  was  an  un 
touched  strip !  The  wheel  seemed  a  living  thing,  utterly 
perverse;  the  tractor  was  a  great  pachyderm  running 
wild.  Miles  and  miles  across  the  prairie  she  thought 
they  must  have  gone,  before  the  leader  looked  back  and 
gave  the  signal  to  turn  the  corner.  Mildred  felt  the 
sweat  start  on  her  forehead  as  she  brought  the  machine 
about  and  slowed  down  to  avoid  fouling  the  plowshares. 
Never  before  had  life  given  to  Mildred  Carver  such  an 
intoxicant  as  came  from  the  first  glance  she  dared  to 
take  over  her  shoulder  that  showed  her  six  plowshares 
safely  following  her  down  the  second  side  of  the  field. 
Her  first  furrows  were  indeed  twisted  and  uneven,  but 
they  were  there.  She,  Mildred  Carver,  was  plowing  the 
land! 

That  first  three  hours  of  farm  work  didn't  seem  real  to 
Mildred  —  they  were  too  full  of  sensation  and  effort  to 
be  of  this  world.  There  were  the  long  stretches  from 
corner  to  corner  that  she  tried  to  make  straight  —  the 
turns  when  to  bit  her  machine  into  obedience  seemed  like 
swaying  the  universe.  Not  every  time  did  she  get  round 
the  square  without  fouling  the  plows,  and  when  she  didn't 
-  there  was  the  stopping  of  all  three  machines  and  the 
pulling  and  the  hauling  and  the  general  righting  before 
they  could  start  again  on  the  gradually  shortening  sides 
of  the  great  field;  and  finally  the  ending  up  with  what 


124  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

seemed  like  a  swirl  of  the  head  tractor  in  the  center.  Mil 
dred  hadn't  had  a  thought  all  the  time  except  to  keep  her 
tractor  going  —  what  levers  she  was  to  pull  next,  whether 
she  had  better  swerve  around  that  little  hollow  or  go 
through  it,  just  how  long  she  must  hold  up  her  machine 
at  the  corner  to  let  the  leader  get  the  proper  distance 
ahead.  She  was  too  absorbed  to  notice  the  ache  in  her 
muscles,  the  blisters  rising  on  her  hands  and  her  growing 
hunger  till  the  leader  called  across  that  it  was  time  to  eat. 

And  there  was  lunch  coming  out  of  a  hamper  as  they 
reached  the  farm  house  —  not  a  little  lady-like  lunch  such 
as  an  elegant  young  female  might  permit  herself  to  taste 
in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  but  good  filling  sandwiches 
thickly  spread  with  butter  and  meat,  and  hot  cocoa  and 
hard  boiled  eggs  and  jam  —  everything  that  naturally 
belongs  with  a  picnic  except  the  pie ! 

Mildred,  looking  for  a  place  to  wash,  discovered  the 
pump,  and  an  obliging  young  girl  of  fourteen  ran  out 
from  the  farm  house  to  work  it  for  her  and  bring  a  tin 
basin. 

"  Where  do  you  hail  from?  "  drawled  the  child  softly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  queried  Mildred,  a  little  be 
wildered,  and  then  suddenly  comprehending : 

"  Oh,  yes !     Why,  I  live  in  New  York  City." 

The  girl's  mouth  and  eyes  opened  wide  together. 

"  Do  you  like  it?  "  she  asked. 

"Like  what?" 

"  Livin'  way  off  there  like  that  ?  " 

Mildred  laughed. 

"  It  isn't  way  off  when  you're  there  —  it's  quite  near 
by." 

The  child  watched  her  soberly. 

"  My  pap  came  down  from  Kansas  when  they  opened 
up  the  State." 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  125 

Evidently  this  was  a  claim  to  consideration  and  Mil 
dred  met  it  with  courtesy  though  quite  uncomprehending. 

"  He  came  when  they  opened  up  the  State  "  —  she  re 
peated  insistently.  "  We  got  a  good  farm  here.  We're 
makin'  out  good." 

"  That's  nice,"  Mildred  repeated  vaguely,  she  didn't 
quite  sense  the  meaning  underneath  the  new  phrases. 

"  Do  you  like  it  —  in  New  York  City?  " 

"  Why,  yes  —  of  course  I  like  it  —  it's  my  home." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  to  go  to  the  City,  when  it's 
my  service  year  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not  —  you  just  have  to  ask  for  it, 
I  guess." 

"  I  never  was  to  a  city." 

Mildred  turned  and  looked  at  her  carefully  —  a  red 
dish,  blond  young  thing  as  most  of  our  native  Americans 
still  are,  showing  the  Anglo-Saxon,  Dutch,  Scandinavian 
derivations  —  about  the  age  of  Ruth.  Never  seen  a 
city !  —  that  must  mean  other  strange  things,  too.  She 
wore  a  neat  print  dress  of  the  cheap  ready-made  sort  that 
the  New  York  factories  turn  out  by  the  thousands  be 
tween  seasons  and  that  have  almost  everywhere  super 
seded  the  traditional  homemade  calico  wrapper,  greatly 
to  the  advantage  of  the  aesthetics.  How  would  she  like 
the  city?  What  would  it  do  to  her?  Mildred  was  un 
consciously  just  on  the  verge  of  incipient  sociological 
speculation  when  the  tractor  driver  called  her  and  she 
went  back  for  her  second  three  hours  on  the  machine. 

She  was  still  too  excited  to  be  really  tired  when  her  six 
hour  work  day  was  up  and  the  big  bus  brought  the  second 
shift  of  workers,  and  gathered  her  up  and  took  her  back 
to  barracks  —  for  though  the  service  recruits  had  short 
hours  under  careful  supervision,  the  machines  never 
rested  while  there  was  daylight  to  run  them.  For  the 


126  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

earth  persisted  in  swinging  on  round  the  sun  whether  the 
farmers  were  ready  for  it  or  not  —  and  never  since  the 
terrible  lesson  of  the  war  with  Germany  had  the  govern 
ment  of  the  United  States  left  the  putting  in  of  the  crops 
to  chance,  or  individual  initiative,  or  withheld  help,  or 
labor,  or  subsidy,  when  these  would  help  to  the  full  feed 
ing  of  the  nation. 

As  the  girls  got  used  to  their  work,  they  had  time  to 
see  something  of  the  people  whose  fields  they  tilled. 

"  Not  more  than  a  hundred  people  since  they  were  born 
have  they  seen !  And  land  not  covered  up  by  cities,  only 
in  a  park,  I  never  seen  till  I  was  in  the  Service.  There 
ain't  nobody  they  gotta  keep  up  with.  Not  since  they  was 
born  did  they  ever  have  to  do  quick  anything  —  and  I 
ain't  never  had  time  to  do  anything  slow.  Different  al 
together  it  makes  us !  " 

The  sixteen  girls  were  lingering  over  their  dinner  when 
Mamie  launched  her  philosophy  toward  the  quarter 
master,  Alice  Farrington,  who  traveled  with  them  as  they 
zigzagged  rapidly  north  into  Missouri  to  keep  ahead  of 
the  spring. 

A  black-browed  girl  down  the  table  showed  a  gleaming 
row  of  teeth  and  a  flash  of  eyes  like  great  black  topaz 
with  brown  lights  in  them  —  she  was  from  some  unpro 
nounceable  province  on  the  hither  edge  of  Syria  and  had  a 
name  commonly  translated  "  Winkles  "  by  the  girls.  Her 
accent  is  not  to  be  set  down  by  the  twenty-six  letters  of 
our  alphabet. 

"  It  was  like  this  in  my  home,"  she  said,  "  only  we  were 
always  afraid." 

"  Afraid  of  what?  "  asked  the  quartermaster. 

"  Of  the  soldiers  sometimes  —  they  came  and  took 
what  they  chose;  or  of  the  wild  dogs  and  wolves  that  came 
down  from  the  hills;  or  of  the  sickness  every  year,  it 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  127 

came  and  if  you  had  it  you  would  die;  or  of  the  evil  spir 
its  that  killed  the  crops  by  keeping  the  rain  away." 

The  girls  looked  at  Winkles  in  awe.  This  girl  from 
another  civilization  than  theirs  never  seemed  real  —  she 
breathed  a  combination  of  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
Arabian  Nights.  Things  that  they  had  only  read  of  had 
been  part  of  her  experience. 

"  Then  how  was  it  like  this?  "  asked  the  literal  Ruth 
Ansel. 

"  In  my  country  there  were  not  many  people  —  except 
in  the  villages  and  there  only  a  few.  And  there  were 
the  same  things  to  grow  —  wheat  and  barley  and  corn. 
And  the  water  was  from  the  well  or  the  spring  and  not  in 
the  house,  —  just  as  it  is  here.  Only  no  man  had  much 
land,  and  they  do  not  have  machines  like  these  we  run  to 
make  it  grow  much  corn,  and  they  are  poor  and  very, 
very  dirty  and  they  die  soon  —  in  my  country." 

There  was  an  awed  silence  round  the  table. 

"  Was  that  why  your  father  came  away?  "  asked  Mil 
dred  gently. 

The  girl's  teeth  and  eyes  flashed  back  at  her  as  though 
a  light  had  been  turned  quickly  on  and  off. 

"  Yes  —  to  get  away  from  being  afraid  and  poor  and 
dirty  and  sick  —  in  America  you  do  not  have  to  have 
these  things.  My  father  is  now  an  American  citizen  and 
I  am  a  soldier  for  the  government." 

Mildred  felt  a  lump  rise  in  her  throat,  the  very  same 
lump  that  came  when  John  Barton  had  first  talked  to 
them  in  the  flour  mill.  Those  emotions  which  had  been 
bred  down  below  the  surface  in  her  race  showed  a  ten 
dency  to  well  up  again  when  she  was  deeply  stirred  by 
something  fine  and  big. 

Winkles  was  becoming  one  of  the  best  tractor  drivers 
—  not  because  she  had  any  previous  knowledge  of  any 


128  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

sort  of  machinery,  but  because  she  had  great  physical 
endurance,  a  willingness  to  submit  to  direction  and  an 
insistence  on  learning  that  was  not  equaled  by  any  other 
girl  in  the  Unit.  It  was  her  first  chance  to  become  a  part 
of  the  great  thing  which  made  the  difference  between  the 
life  her  father  had  fled  from,  and  the  Utopia  they  thought 
they  had  come  into. 

"  The  men  that  work  for  the  farmers  —  they  are  much 
the  same  as  in  my  country.  Only  it  is  we  who  are  dif 
ferent,  —  but  we  work  not  for  the  farmer  but  for  the 
government  —  and  not  for  always,  —  only  one  year." 

"Say,  ain't  that  a  difference?"  broke  in  Mamie  Ep 
stein.  "  I'd  die  being  lonesome  if  I  was  to  have  to  live 
here!  What  'ud  you  do  after  dinner?  What'd  you  do 
on  Sunday?  Who  you  gotta  talk  to  when  you  ain't 
workin'  ?  Excuse  me!  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Ruth  slowly,  "  I  think  it  could  be  organ 
ized  —  I  think  —  " 

But  Mamie  broke  in  again. 

"  Some  ways  it  ain't  as  good  as  Orchard  Street.  I 
don't  notice  it's  any  easier  to  keep  clean  than  what  it  is 
there  —  we  got  about  just  as  many  bath  tubs  as  they  got 
and  that  ain't  any  so's  you'd  notice  'em.  We  get  just  as 
good  food  —  and  my  Mamma  she  cooks  it  a  lot  better 
than  that  time  Mrs.  Linden  give  me  a  dinner,  cause  the 
bus  with  the  lunch  was  late." 

"  They  do  cook  badly,"  said  Quartermaster  Earring- 
ton,  "  but  then  they  haven't  the  variety  we  have  in  the 
city  —  they  - 

"  Well,  that's  up  to  them.  Ain't  this  the  kind  of  place 
things  grow  that  you  eat!  " 

The  farm  hands  did  appall  the  girls.  Not  that  there 
were  many  of  them  —  for  the  Service  was  driving  them 
out  —  but  still  some  did  exist  —  vestigial  remains  of  an 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  129 

unorganized  civilization  that  was  passing  away.  They 
were  in  startling  contrast  to  the  group  of  industrial 
workers  the  girls  were  used  to  in  the  cities;  physically 
large  and  strong  as  was  necessary  to  the  work  they  did  — 
physically  slow  as  having  no  need  to  keep  up  with  the 
motions  of  hurrying  machinery  but  only  with  the  delib 
erate  strides  of  inevitable  nature.  No  need  for  them  to 
be  well  informed,  or  well  dressed,  or  good  citizens,  for 
there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  for  them  as  farm  hands 
by  any  self-development  beyond  the  physical.  There 
were  practically  no  mental  or  moral  demands  in  their 
calling  —  and  small  social  or  financial  satisfactions. 

"  Gee!  If  it  was  me  I'd  rather  be  workin'  by  infants' 
wear  in  Stanton  Street  seein'  what  it  does  to  'em  when 
they  get  through,"  commented  Mamie. 

But  before  our  Universal  Service,  the  farm  hand,  even 
the  last  remnant  of  him,  tends  to  vanish,  and  the  farms 
themselves  to  shrink  to  a  size  that  the  owner  can  operate 
between  the  stress  seasons  of  seedtime  and  harvest.  And 
already  under  the  organized  help  to  the  farmers,  the 
acreage  under  cultivation  is  slowly  increasing  and  the 
yield  per  acre  going  up. 

Mildred  loved  the  work.  All  her  life  she  had  been 
used  to  being  out  of  doors  —  riding,  tramping,  playing 
games,  getting  much  joy  out  of  the  open  air.  Now  she 
had  this  same  outdoor  life  in  the  interests  of  production 
—  of  industry.  She  kept  telling  herself  that  this  was 
the  other  end  of  the  work  John  Barton  was  doing —  the 
work  of  giving  everybody  bread  —  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

WORKING  back  and  forth  through  the  endless 
green  miles  of  the  corn  belt,  past  the  point 
ing  white  fingers  of  the  scattered  churches, 
gradually  northward  from  one  little  wood-built  town  to 
another,  the  tractor  teams  of  the  Forty-second  Unit  be 
came  increasingly  expert. 

Mildred  following  after  Edward  Fox,  the  professional 
worker  who  drove  the  first  tractor,  and  followed  closely 
by  Sam  Wilcox  on  the  third,  no  longer  had  any  terror  of 
the  corners  of  the  fields,  —  she  knew  she  could  turn  them 
safely;  she  no  longer  watched  her  furrows  anxiously  over 
her  shoulder,  —  she  knew  they  were  straight.  There 
wasn't  much  chance  to  talk  because  the  noise  of  their 
combined  engines  was  like  the  sound  of  aeroplanes  in 
flight,  but  there  was  a  lot  of  time  to  speculate  on  all  the 
problems  that  were  presenting  themselves  to  her  day  by 
day. 

This  speculation  would  have  been  inevitable  to  a  girl 
of  her  type  and  age,  but  if  she  had  been  a  New  York 
debutante,  as  her  mother  had  been,  instead  of  a  tractor 
driver  in  the  Mississippi  Valley,  it  would  have  turned  on 
her  personal  concerns  —  amusements,  clothes  and  par 
ticularly  marriage  —  to  a  far  greater  extent. 

One  day  they  plowed  a  great  rich  tract  through  the 
middle  of  which  ran  a  slow,  meandering  stream,  lately 
snowbound.  A  Service  Corps  was  busy  digging  and 
trenching  along  the  bank  of  it  and  Edward  Fox  signaled 
to  stop. 

130 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  131 

"  Taking  the  kinks  out  of  the  stream,"  the  gang  leader 
told  Mildred.  "  Land  here  grows  too  much  corn  to  the 
acre  to  let  any  more  of  it  be  under  water  than  we  can  help. 
Of  course,  it  isn't  as  pretty  to  look  at  as  it  was  before, 
I  guess  we  will  have  to  look  for  beauty  somewhere  else." 

And  his  glance  at  Mildred  seemed  to  indicate  where  it 
was  to  be  found. 

'  They  tell  me  it  pays  well  to  straighten  out  the  brooks. 
Somebody  in  the  University  of  Iowa  made  an  estimate  on 
the  number  of  acres  it  saved  but  I  couldn't  believe  it  till 
they  put  me  on  this  job." 

Mildred  went  back  to  her  tractor  with  a  half-forgotten 
"  golden  text  "  about  "  making  straight  His  paths  "  float 
ing  in  her  mind,  which  drifted  off  into  obscure  calcula 
tions  of  the  number  of  corn  bread  muffins  somebody 
would  eat  because  the  curl  was  taken  out  of  that  particu 
lar  stream. 

Another  day  Winkles  came  back  at  night  full  of  excite- 
ment. 

'  There  was  a  little  hill  —  oh,  a  very  little  hill  —  and 
the  men  in  the  uniforms  were  putting  small  trees  on  the 
top  of  it  —  a  long  row  of  very  small  trees.  '  Why  do  you 
plant  trees  ? '  I  said  to  them.  They  told  me  it  was  so  the 
wind  would  be  kept  from  the  young  corn.  And  that  is  a 
wonderful  thing  in  this  country,  that  the  government 
keeps  the  wind  from  the  young  corn!  " 

And  that,  too,  Mildred  thought  about  while  she  rode 
her  tractor. 

One  night  in  Missouri,  their  barracks  was  on  the 
ground  of  an  Agricultural  Experiment  Station  and  the 
recruits  stationed  there  welcomed  them  with  hilarious  joy 
and  told  them  about  the  experiments  they  were  making 
in  early  varieties  of  corn,  and  wheat  from  China,  and  new 
fertilizers  and  ways  to  circumvent  the  grasshopper  — 


132  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

these  all  mixed  up  with  the  gossip  of  the  Service,  and 
national  politics  as  interpreted  in  the  light  of  their  eight 
een  years,  and  a  lot  of  scattering  personalities  and  some 
faultfinding. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  being  eight  miles  from  the 
movies  for  four  months!  Why,  I'd  even  be  darn  glad 
to  see  those  before-the-war  films  of  Charley  Chaplin!" 

"  We  haven't  seen  any  since  we  left  Minneapolis, 
either,"  said  Ruth  Ansel.  "  But  if  it's  any  comfort  to 
you,  I'll  tell  you  about  the  last  ones  we  saw  there." 

After  an  outraged  silence  the  Experiment  Station  re 
cruits  told  Ruth  what  they  really  thought  of  her  and  har 
mony  was  restored. 

It  was  the  evening  after  that  or  the  next  but  one  that 
Mamie  said  earnestly  to  Mildred : 

"  One  more  young  man  gets  stuck  on  you,  Mildred. 
Sam  Wilcox  —  ain't  it  so?  Off  you  he  don't  take  his 
eyes." 

Mildred  turned  in  surprise.  They  were  sewing  under 
the  lamp  —  holes  in  stockings,  rents  in  skirts,  buttons  on 
underwear.  Mildred  was  doing  it  painstakingly  but 
exceedingly  ill,  it  irked  her  more  than  anything  in  the 
Service,  and  she  watched  enviously  the  carefree  way  in 
which  Mamie  attacked  needle  and  thread.  She  could 
never  get  used  to  Mamie's  way  of  talking  things  out  —  to 
her  disregard  of  what  was  commonly  taken  for  granted 
or  implied  or  pretended. 

"  What  makes  you  think  Sam  Wilcox  is  stuck  on  me  ?  " 
Mildred  knew  it  wasn't  any  use  to  fence  with  Mamie  but 
ancestral  reserve  made  her  try. 

"  Well,  why  wouldn't  he  be  ?  All  day  he  sees  you  on 
the  tractor  riding,  and  every  evening  coming  here." 

"  Mamie  Epstein,  what  makes  you  always  think 
somebody  is  'stuck'  on  somebody  else?  It  makes  me  so 
uncomfortable !  It  spoils  all  the  fun !  " 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  133 

"  Fun  all  right  it  is  for  you,  —  but  how  I  worry  about 
it  you  should  know !  " 

"  Nobody  has  to  marry !  " 

Mamie's  shrug  was  a  quick  arraignment  of  the  whole 
feminist  movement. 

"  An  old  maid  you  think  I  should  be  working  by  shirt 
waists  till  I  gotta  die!  Such  plans  I  ain't  got  for  my 
self!" 

They  sewed  silently  for  a  while.  Ostensibly  all  Mil 
dred's  attention  was  concentrated  upon  her  rather  futile 
efforts  to  sew  a  ripped  seam ;  in  reality  she  was  struggling 
with  a  sudden  fit  of  physical  distaste  at  the  idea  of  Sam 
Wilcox  being  "  stuck  on  her."  There  was  a  certain  sleek 
masculinity  about  Sam,  all  frank  and  clear  skinned  and 
boyish  as  he  was;  that  repelled  her  the  moment  she  saw 
him  in  the  light  of  a  possible  lover.  Mamie's  words  had 
brought  him  into  quick  contrast  with  Nick  —  and  all  her 
aesthetically  critical  senses  sprang  away  from  his  short 
fingered,  clumsy  hands,  the  clumsy,  untaught  processes 
of  his  brain;  from  his  vigorous  but  ungraceful  body; 
from  his  innocent  but  unlovely  manners  —  toward  the 
slender  figure  of  Nick  with  all  its  perfection  of  finish  in 
physical  detail  —  a  crisp,  definite  modeling  of  the  bones 
as  they  showed  through  the  not  too  abundant  flesh;  the 
careful  marking  of  his  eyebrows ;  the  supple  adaptability 
of  his  hands;  the  bodily  control  that  kept  him  always 
physically  at  ease ;  the  consideration  of  manner  bred  into 
him  for  generations.  It  all  came  to  Mildred  as  a  wave 
of  feeling  rather  than  of  thought.  Emotionally  she 
pushed  Sam  away  with  outward  facing  palms.  When 
she  brought  herself  back  to  the  present  Mamie  was  say 
ing: 

"  With  you  it's  different.  All  those  swell  uptown 
fellers  you  got  a  chance  to  get  married  to.  I  bet  your 


134  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

father  could  give  a  boy  a  five  thousand  dollar  check  and 
never  make  no  difference  in  the  housekeeping." 

"  But  I'm  not  thinking  about  getting  married  —  not  at 
all!" 

Mildred  stopped  suddenly  —  of  course  in  a  way  she 
was  thinking  of  getting  married,  for  there  was  Nick  — 
but  it  all  seemed  very  far  away  and  unimportant. 

"  Honest,  Mildred,  you  make  me  so  tired !  Ain't  Mr. 
Barton  just  waiting  till  it  is  October  and  you  get  out  of 
the  Service  ?  Not  that  I  would  say  you  should  take  him 
—  understand  me  —  with  swell  fellows  coming  to  your 
house  and  pearls  on  your  mother's  neck  like  they  was  sold 
at  the  ten  cent  store—-  that  plenty!  But  Mr.  Barton 
from  Minneapolis  or  Sam  Wilcox  from  San  Francisco, 
would  be  different  for  me." 

Mildred  turned  on  her  suddenly. 

"  Mamie,  you  don't  mean  — 

"  Sure,  I  do  mean !  Never  does  a  young  man  come 
along  that  I  don't  say  to  myself,  'Is  that  the  young  man 
you  should  get  married  to,  Mamie  Epstein  ? ' 

"  But  Sam  Wilcox  isn't  - 

"  Sure,  I  know  he's  a  '  Krist,'  but  what  did  my  Papa 
come  by  America  for  if  I  ain't  gotta  right  to  marry  if  I 
can  get  him  a  young  man  not  working  by  cloaks  and  suits 
in  New  York  City?" 

"  Of  course,  you've  the  right,  Mamie  —  but  — 

"  No  rich  uptown  feller,  like  some  of  the  girls  has  got, 
for  how  would  I  get  away  with  it,  and  his  Papa  and 
Mamma  and  everybody  smiling  sarcastic  ?  And  Mr.  Bar 
ton  from  Minneapolis  —  right  away  it  would  be  every 
thing  like  his  mother  did  was  all  the  way  there  was  to  do 
it  —  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mildred  slowly  —  she  was  filled  with  a 
blind  resentment  that  Mamie  should  even  imply  a  criti 
cism  of  her  prophet  of  light. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  135 

"  But  Sam  Wilcox,  —  what  is  the  gents'  furnishing 
business  in  San  Francisco  that  I  gotta  put  up  any  pretense 
of  refinement  if  I  got  a  husband  that's  in  it?  Sure,  I  can 
get  away  with  the  gents'  furnishings  all  right!  " 

Mildred  still  sewed  valiantly  at  her  seam  but  she  had 
lost  the  power  of  concentrating  upon  it. 

"  It  ain't  that  you  would  get  married  to  him  yourself, 
Mildred  —  all  the  grand  chances  you  got.  Just  enter 
tainment  it  is,  like  you  was  going  to  the  movies." 

Outside  there  was  a  loud,  keen  whistling  of  an  intri 
cate  syncopated  measure  with  as  elaborate  ornamentations 
as  the  human  mouth-parts  make  possible  and  Mamie  and 
Mildred  raised  their  heads. 

"Ain't  I  telling  you?  Every  night  he  comes  like  it 
was  a  rubber  band  that  pulled  him?  " 

"  I'll  go,  Mamie  —  I'll  go  upstairs  in  a  moment  or 
two." 

Sam  Wilcox  strolled  over  and  sat  as  close  to  Mildred 
as  the  mechanical  construction  of  tables  and  chairs  per 
mitted. 

"  Well,  ain't  this  a  cheering  sight  for  a  man  that's  been 
sewing  on  his  own  buttons  for  six  months?  " 

"  And  whose  buttons  would  it  be  you  sew  on,  if  it 
ain't  your  own  buttons,"  commented  Mamie  softly. 

Sam  Wilcox  hardly  noticed  her. 

"  Makes  you  feel  like  you  was  married  and  got  a  home 
of  your  own  —  I  guess  —  " 

"  Well  of  all  the  nerve !  Do  you  think  any  girl  gets 
married  so's  to  have  a  license  to  sew  on  buttons  for  noth 
ing?  There's  more'n  a  hundred  places  in  New  York 
City  where  she  gets  paid  for  that  kind  of  pleasure  in  per 
fectly  good  money." 

Mildred  laughed  a  little  nervously. 

"  Say,  ain't  it  some  better'n  running  a  tractor  that's 
liable  to  balk  any  minute?  " 


136  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  I  don't  like  to  sew,"  said  Mildred  deliberately. 

"  Oh,  I  say  —  but  maybe  you  wouldn't  have  to  —  I  bet 
I  make  good  money  by  the  time  I'm  twenty-one  —  I  - 

Mildred  rose  hastily  and  gathered  up  her  unfinished 
seam. 

"  I'll  take  this  upstairs,"  she  said. 

Mamie  watched  her  go  comprehendingly.  Sam  waited 
a  while  in  silence  and  then  turned  to  Mamie. 

"  Ain't  it  funny  she  shouldn't  like  to  sew?  " 

Mamie  was  obtrusively  diligent  with  her  needle. 

"  Oh,  not  so  funny  you  would  notice  it.  Sam  Wilcox, 
do  you  think  it  is  so  nice  that  a  boy  should  be  talking 
about  getting  married  like  it  was  a  new  kind  of  work  for 
his  wife!" 

"  Oh  I  say,  Mamie  —  I  meant  —  " 

"  Well,  the  girl  you  talk  work  to,  you  gotta  pick  care 
ful  !  Mildred  Carver,  if  you  could  see  the  house  she  lives 
in  and  her  Mamma  with  real  pearls,  you  wouldn't  talk 
sewing  on  buttons  to  like  it  was  a  great  privilege." 

"  What's  pearls !  My  mother's  got  a  diamond  pin  and 
earrings  to  wear  to  church." 

"  Say,  what's  diamonds  for  church !  I  guess  Mildred's 
Papa  if  he  should  want  a  church  he  could  buy  it  all  right ! 
Butlers  they  have  and  a  swell  room  to  dance  in  like  you 
rented  a  hall  in  Avenue  A." 

It  wasn't  clear  to  Sam  Wilcox  just  what  Mamie  meant. 
The  mind  can  only  receive  what  it  is  prepared  to  hold, 
and  as  far  as  social  distinctions,  and  financial  levels,  and 
the  relation  of  the  diamond  and  the  pearl  to  each  other  in 
the  social  scale,  and  such  like  subtleties,  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Sam  Wilcox  was  as  unprepared  as  the  unbroken  prairie 
for  corn. 

"  A  girl  that  sews  easy  before  she  gets  married  should 
like  to  sew  on  buttons  after  she  gets  a  husband.  Sewing 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  137 

I  been  doing  ever  since  I  could  make  a  thread  through  the 
hole  of  a  needle  go !  " 

Mamie  was  only  subtle  in  her  receive  —  her  serve  was 
direct  and  square  in  the  court.  There  was  not  even  the 
suspicion  of  a  cut  on  it,  but  it  got  by  Sam. 

Mamie's  fingers  speeding  the  needle  in  and  out  were 
obvious,  they  flashed  and  danced  before  the  eyes  of  Sam 
Wilcox.  The  thread  mended  and  buttons  flew  into  place 
like  pictures  drawing  themselves  on  a  movie  screen,  — 
but  the  boy  looked  persistently  toward  the  staircase  down 
which  Mildred  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  return. 

"  Your  Mamma  has  some  more  boys?  "  Mamie's  voice 
was  gutturally  sweet. 

"  No  such  luck  for  the  old  lady,  —  thought  when  she 
saw  what  I  was  like  she  couldn't  make  no  improvements." 

"  Say,  you  don't  hate  yourself !  But  some  girls  she's 
got?" 

"  Nope  —  only  yours  truly !  " 

"  Ain't  it  grand  she  should  have  diamond  pins  and 
everything!  " 

"  She  looks  all  right  when  she's  dressed  up,  too.  I  say 
to  her,  '  Ma,  look  at  the  fellows  watching  you,  they  think 
I  got  a  new  girl,'  —  just  like  that." 

"  Oh,  ain't  you  sassy  by  your  Mamma!  " 

"  She  likes  it,  you  bet  —  but  what's  eating  Mildred  — 
ain't  she  coming  back?  " 

There  was  a  pause  full  of  Mamie's  marshaling  of  re- 
enforcements. 

"  Resting  after  the  sewing,  I  guess  she  is.  If  you  ain't 
used  to  sewing  on  buttons,  more  than  running  tractors  it 
makes  you  tired." 

"  Well  —  I  guess  I'll  be  goin' !  I'm  some  done  up 
myself." 

Mamie  sewed  slowly  after    Sam   had   gone  —  sewed 


138  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

while  she  reviewed  the  situation.  There  was  no  sen 
sitiveness  in  her  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  she  ob 
viously  hadn't  even  got  the  rays  of  Sam's  matrimonial 
headlights  deflected  in  her  direction.  Sam  looked  to  her 
about  like  the  thing  she  could  get  away  with.  She  folded 
her  sewing  with  smart  speed  and  went  to  join  some  girls 
under  the  further  lamp.  They  were  poring  over  the 
fashions  in  the  back  of  a  woman's  magazine. 

"  Say,  ain't  it  fierce  the  way  somebody  else's  always 
froze  onto  anything  you  want?  "  she  complained. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mamie?" 

"  Well,  there's  those  styles  in  ladies'  trotteur  suits,  and 
there's  that  coat  in  chinchilla  —  would  I  be  getting  them 
do  you  think?  And  I  bet  I  marry  a  gink  that  works  by 
pants  in  Rivington  Street,  after  all !  " 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  U.  S.  A.  wears  the  Corn  Belt  like  a  girdle  of 
glory  with  her  summer  dresses.  Every  year 
when  she  has  brushed  off  the  white  powder 
that  she  puts  on  for  the  winter's  gayeties,  she  looks  to 
the  resetting  and  polishing  of  this  chief  treasure.  Each 
flat,  square  mile  must  be  made  ready  for  its  enameling  of 
green,  each  thoroughfare  and  by-road  must  be  polished 
smooth  to  make  easy  the  way  of  the  crops. 

The  Forty-second  Unit  of  the  Eleventh  Corps  of  the 
Agricultural  Service,  swinging  rapidly  north  before  the 
drive  of  a  luminary,  insistently  bent  on  lengthening  the 
growing  day  of  the  crops  --  came  into  a  region  of 
new  government  roads  flung  down  hastily  like  Sir  Wal 
ter's  cloak  before  their  rumbling  busses.  Gangs  of  husky 
brown  boys  worked  upon  them  under  the  supervision  of 
trained  road-makers  and  one  morning  as  Mildred  climbed 
to  the  seat  of  her  tractor,  Nick  Van  Arsdale  jerked  up 
straight  from  his  work ;  ran  across  the  meadow  and  cried : 

"  Hullo,  Mildred,"  just  as  she  started  the  motor. 

There  was  no  stopping  then  but  when  Mildred  got 
fairly  under  way  she  laughed  back  at  him  —  a  serene 
young  figure  in  khaki,  her  blond  braid  held  by  a  blue  rib 
bon  and  the  morning  breeze  blowing  little  tendrils  of  gold 
about  her  sunburned  ears.  And  Nick  felt  a  tear  that 
lodged  under  the  corner  of  his  eyelid  spill  over  at  the 
courage  of  the  laugh  she  sent  back.  Think  of  her  having 
to  work  on  a  farm  —  she,  who  had  always  had  every 
little  thing  in  the  world  done  for  her  and  ought  to  have 

139 


140  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

been  carefully  taken  care  of  always !  How  she  must  hate 
it,  and  yet  smiling  at  him  like  that !  Work  was  a  differ 
ent  thing  for  a  man.  As  the  tractor  vanished  over  a  little 
rise  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  Nick  walked  across  to  the  farm 
house.  The  farmer's  wife  was  most  willing  to  talk  to 
this  handsome  service  lad. 

"  They'll  be  back  for  lunch  about  nine.  Oh,  no,  we 
don't  feed  'em.  We  just  give  'em  a  place  to  eat  in.  See 
those  boxes?  That's  their  lunch.  It  came  by  the  bus 
this  morning.  When  they've  had  it,  they'll  go  to  work 
again  and  at  half-past  twelve  the  bus'll  be  along  bringing 
them  that's  to  work  in  the  afternoon  and  takin'  them 
that's  here  back.  How  do  we  get  'em  to  come?  Why, 
we  have  to  plant  the  crops  that  the  government  expert 
tells  us  to.  At  first  some  of  us  stuck  out  for  doing  as 
we'd  always  done;  but  we  couldn't  get  the  government 
help  for  the  plowing  and  harrowing  and  planting  in  the 
spring,  or  the  cutting  and  binding  and  threshing  in  the 
summer;  and  such  as  had  it  got  way  ahead  of  us.  Yes, 
they  do  pretty  fair.  There's  trained  men  in  charge  to 
tell  'em  how.  What  ?  —  oh,  yes,  all  the  machines  belong 
to  them.  Of  course,  the  work  don't  take  much  judgment. 
I  guess  if  you  know  how  to  run  an  automobile  you  can't 
go  far  wrong  on  it.  But  my  —  the  difference  it  makes  in 
the  crops!  Pay?  —  why,  of  course  we  pay  by  the  acre 
and  they  bring  as  many  people  and  as  many  machines  as 
they  need.  No,  this  is  the  first  work  this  lot  has  done 
in  the  county  —  they  come  over  to  Kirksville  yesterday. 
Isn't  that  where  you're  put  up  ?  " 

Nick,  tramping  over  to  the  barracks  where  the  Forty- 
second  Unit  was  quartered,  as  soon  as  he  had  helped  to 
wash  the  dishes  and  brush  up  the  crumbs,  had  a  great 
warm  feeling  around  his  heart.  Mildred  and  he  would 
talk  together  of  the  people  in  New  York  and  he  would 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  141 

tell  her  about  how  they  really  made  roads  and  the  time 
the  engine  boiler  exploded  and  what  it  was  like  to  "  drag  " 
the  roads  in  dry  weather,  and  —  oh,  a  lot  of  things.  And 
then  it  occurred  that  he  would  kiss  her,  of  course  —  didn't 
one  naturally  kiss  the  girl  one  was  going  to  marry  ?  And 
a  quick  feel  of  that  first  kiss  of  theirs  —  way,  way  back 
there  when  they  were  both  so  young  —  nearly  six  months 
ago  —  came  to  Nick  and  he  hastened  his  steps. 

But  the  sitting  room  of  the  barracks  was  full  of  people 
-  not  only  the  girls  who  lived  there,  but  the  boys  of  the 
Unit  and  several  men  from  his  own  section  and  even  from 
Kirksville  had  made  excuses  to  drop  in.  Mildred  did 
jump  up  and  come  running  toward  him  and  held  out  her 
hand  but  there  was  nothing  particularly  satisfying  about 
a  mere  hand.  He  whispered  to  her  to  come  out  doors 
with  him.  But  there  were  little  hitches  —  she  had  to  in 
form  Quartermaster  Farrington  that  she  was  going  out, 
and  get  her  coat,  and  write  her  name  on  the  "  on  leave  " 
list  before  they  could  slip  out  through  the  door  by  them 
selves.  The  cold  air  struck  them  like  a  rushing  river  — 
air  fresh  from  the  still  frozen  heights  of  the  Canadian 
border  and  taking  all  their  extra  energy  to  meet  and  com 
bat  it.  So  when  Nick,  safe  at  last  in  a  protecting  shadow, 
slid  his  arm  around  Mildred  and  bent  to  meet  her  lips,  it 
was  in  the  mid  stream  of  a  rushing  air  current  that  was 
like  the  Mississippi  in  flood.  No  soft  arms  went  up 
round  his  neck  as  they  had  in  the  insidious  perfume- 
laden  summer  mist.  No !  What  he  got  was  a  rather  un 
satisfactory  peck  in  the  midst  of  wild  catches  at  hat  and 
flying  hair.  And  as  for  its  being  the  soft  ending  of  a 
languorous  day  that  had  had  nothing  much  but  Mildred  in 
it  anyway,  why  it  was  just  something  added  to  a  day  al 
ready  filled  with  hard  physical  exertion.  They  were  not 
any  longer  two  young  people  with  nothing  to  do  but  fall 


142  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

in  love  in  a  sense-compelling  setting,  but  extraordinarily 
busy  recruits  set  primarily  on  the  adventure  of  work. 

To  Mildred,  Nick  had  never  seemed  so  attractive.  She 
had  been  all  these  months  with  people  whose  small  ways 
were  less  charming  and  graceful  —  but  a  new  coquetry 
had  developed  in  her.  She  could  not  quite  define  it  in  her 
self ;  it  was  as  though  she  were  quite  ready  to  admit  her 
engagement  to  him  as  an  academic  proposition,  but  not 
as  a  working  hypothesis.  She  somehow  pushed  their  re 
lations  into  a  state  of  quite  unaccustomed  uncertainty 
bewildering  to  Nick,  for  all  she  was  so  glad  to  see  him. 
They  couldn't  stay  out  doors  indefinitely  clinging  to  each 
other  under  such  emotionally  adverse  conditions.  There 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  come  back  to  the  lamp-lit  bar 
rack-room  and  the  chattering  group  around  the  stove. 

Mildred  took  it  all  in  good  part  —  too  good,  Nick 
thought,  considering  that  he  was  ordered  away  tomor 
row  and  this  was  their  one  evening  together.  And  so 
because  he  was  hurt  and  disappointed,  he  threw  himself 
into  talk  with  Sam  Wilcox  and  Winkles  and  a  gesticu 
lating,  curly-headed  young  Italian,  and  talked  roads  and 
farm  machinery  and  planting;  and  criticized  the  food, 
and  raged  at  the  regulations,  and  guyed  the  officers,  and 
altogether  showed  himself  such  a  charming  and  normal 
and  lovable  young  man  that  the  whole  group  could  hardly 
let  him  go  when  the  nine  o'clock  bugle  blew. 

And  Nick,  dull  eyed,  went  back  to  his  barracks  and 
made  a  humble  comparison  of  himself  with  Sam  Wilcox, 
who  had  shown  proprietary  symptoms.  Was  not  Sam 
as  good  looking?  As  intelligent?  Might  he  not  some 
time  be  as  rich  —  or  if  he  were  not,  did  that  matter  to 
Mildred  Carver?  And  there  was  this  Barton  they'd 
been  talking  about  that  evening  as  though  he  were  the 
king  pin  of  the  whole  country.  Same  man  Mildred  had 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  143 

written  about  from  Minneapolis.  That  Mamie  Epstein 
raved  about  him  too,  but  not  so  much  as  Mildred.  You'd 
think  girls  would  find  something  new  to  talk  about! 
Probably  he  was  just  another  of  these  men  that  were  in 
love  with  Mildred !  Feeling  shorn  of  any  inherent  mer 
its  that  might  make  her  prefer  him  after  she  had  a  chance 
to  choose,  he  went  to  bed  with  the  realization  of  how 
Mildred's  matrimonial  outlook  had  widened.  Of  course 
he  knew  that  almost  any  girl  had  a  greater  choice  of 
husbands  than  a  rich  girl  in  society.  The  men  she  may 
appropriately  marry  are  within  a  very  narrow  circle,  the 
greatest  pains  are  taken  to  see  that  she  meets  no  one  out 
side  it,  and  most  of  the  men  in  the  world  are  outside. 
Nick  knew  all  these  things  and  cursed  the  way  his  partic 
ular  section  of  the  universe  was  constructed  as  he  fell 
asleep. 

And  Mildred,  combing  out  her  long,  blond  hair,  thought 
how  splendid  Nick  was  about  work  that  she  knew  he 
didn't  care  for  at  all.  Of  course,  Nick  was  part  of  the 
big  job,  too — for  if  they  didn't  have  good  roads  how 
would  they  get  about  to  plant  the  crops  ?  He  wasn't  im 
portant  like  Mr.  Barton,  and  after  his  year  he  would  go 
back  to  all  kinds  of  things  that  didn't  matter,  while  Mr. 
Barton  would  keep  right  on  helping  to  make  flour.  Mil 
dred  blushed  at  the  mere  coupling  of  the  two  names  in 
her  own  mind  —  and  Mamie  Epstein  coming  across  for 
a  last  good-night  gossip,  caught  the  blush  and  the  self- 
conscious  look  in  Mildred's  eyes  and  made  a  quick  mis 
interpretation. 

"  You  and  me  was  saying  last  week  a  girl  ain't  got  to 
be  in  a  hurry  to  get  married,  but  such  a  young  man  as  Mr. 
Van  Arsdale  any  girl  can  be  lucky  to  get." 

Mildred,  jarred  out  of  her  little  tender  reverie,  turned 
suddenly. 


144  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.   A. 

"  Mamie  —  I  won't  hear  you  talk  all  the  time  about 
boys  and  getting  married!  And  I  wish  you'd  let  me 
alone !  " 

Mamie  dropped  her  lower  jaw  in  surprise,  —  what  was 
there  about  matrimonial  probabilities  different  from  any 
of  the  other  affairs  of  life,  that  one  should  not  speak 
about  them?  Why,  wasn't  it  a  flattering  attention  to 
rate  another  person's  chances  high  in  the  marriage  mar 
ket?  She  rose  in  a  slow  bewilderment. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  throw  a  hate  on  me  because  I  say 
you  got  a  chance  to  get  married  to  Mr.  Van  Arsdale.  He 
got  such  a  respect  off-a-you,  I  bet  you  don't  have  it  just 
friends  with  him  if  you  don't  like  it.  I  - 

Mildred  turned  again  in  a  sudden  flash. 

"  Stop !  "  she  cried. 

And  Mamie  stopped. 

So  the  little  idyl  which  fortune  flung  them  in  this 
chance  meeting,  she  snatched  back  again  and  left  nothing 
but  a  sense  of  mutual  exasperation. 

Mildred  lay  for  a  long  time  enjoying  a  great  variety 
of  conflicting  and  more  or  less  undefined  sensations.  So 
Mamie  thought  it  was  "  just  friends  "  between  her  and 
Nick,  did  she?  Well,  that  showed  how  little  Mamie 
knew  about  it !  But  then  Mamie  was  usually  right  about 
such  things  as  personal  relationships  —  think  of  the  time 
she  knew  for  a  week  beforehand  how  Winkles  was  mad 
at  Miss  Farrington,  and  nobody  else  even  suspected  it! 
But  of  course  she  didn't  know  this  time.  The  picture  of 
John  Barton  came  slowly  on  the  screen  of  her  mind,  but 
she  turned  it  back  hastily  as  though  it  had  no  business 
appearing  unbidden  or  in  that  connection.  And  then  for 
safety  from  her  own  emotions,  she  thought  of  her  work, 
and  that  was  a  comforting  thing,  for  she  was  beginning 
to  have  ideas  on  an  improvement  of  the  grip  handles  of 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  145 

her  control  levers  and  she  wanted  to  talk  with  the  Captain 
of  the  Unit  next  day  and  see  if  he  didn't  agree  with  her, — 
and  her  mind  grew  hazy,  hearing  the  Captain  say : 

"  That  is  a  wonderful  idea,  Miss  Carver  —  wonderful ! 
All  our  engineers  together  never  thought  of  a  thing  like 
that!  It  will  revolutionize  farm  tractors!  " 

And  very  dimly  indeed  she  saw  the  other  girls  filled 
with  admiration  and  further  off  Nick  registering  awed 
wonder  and  just  as  the  dark  of  sleep  closed  over  her,  John 
Barton  said  something  about  the  noble  work  of  feeding 
the  world  —  only  she  was  too  far  away  to  hear  dis 
tinctly. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

DEAR  MOTHER  :  - 
'  You  know  our  second  vacation  week  comes 
next  month.  I  want  awfully  to  see  you  and 
father  and  Ruthie  and  Junior,  but  it's  such  a  terribly  long 
way  to  New  York  that  I'd  have  to  be  traveling  most  of 
my  vacation  if  I  went  home.  So  couldn't  you  all  come 
to  Minneapolis  which  is  just  a  little  way  off,  and  spend 
the  vacation  there  with  me  ?  Please,  please  do !  You've 
so  much  more  time  than  I  have.  You  could  be  there 
when  I  came  and  we'd  have  a  whole  week  together.  You 
know  you  haven't  a  thing  to  do  and  I  have  to  begin  the 
harvesting  right  after  vacation.  We'll  just  have  the 
best  time.  All  the  other  girls  are  going  home  because 
their  mothers  and  fathers  can't  come  on  —  and  they  are 
kicking  about  it  like  anything,  but  it's  either  that  or  stay 
in  barracks  and  loaf.  And  there  isn't  the  least  reason  in 
the  world  why  you  can't  come  —  So  do  it,  Mother  dear, 
oh,  Please." 

Mrs.  Carver  read  this  letter  to  her  husband  at  break 
fast  after  Junior  and  Ruth  had  gone  to  school. 

"  How  absurd  the  child  is !  As  though  I  had  nothing 
to  do !  "  she  commented  laughing  —  "  and  Junior's  teeth 
being  straightened." 

"  It  would  take  most  of  her  time  to  get  here  and  back 
again,"  said  Frank,  laying  down  his  paper  and  addressing 
himself  to  his  hothouse  melon.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  to 
run  out  there,  Mary?  We  could  go  on  to  the  coast  if 
you  cared  to." 

146 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  147 

"  I  can't  possibly,  Frank.  All  the  things  I'm  inter 
ested  in  are  just  finishing  up  then  —  it's  the  very  end  of 
the  season  and  you  know  I'm  planning  to  get  a  new  house 
keeper  for  Torexo  —  if  it  were  a  month  later  — 

"It  isn't!  I  think,  Mary,  I'll  go.  There's  nothing 
here  I  can't  leave  for  a  fortnight  or  so  —  Jameson  is 
pretty  efficient." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  nice !  You'd  have  quite  a  lark 
off  there  together.  I  know  Mildred  would  love  it.  And 
be  sure  you  tell  her  all  you  can  about  Nick  —  for  after 
all,  Frank,  nothing  could  be  more  suitable.  We  may  just 
as  well  face  the  fact,  Frank.  —  Mildred's  the  type  that's 
quite  certain  to  attract  men.  I  could  see  that  it  had  al 
ready  begun  when  I  was  in  Minneapolis  —  and  of  course, 
quite  awful  things  could  happen  with  her  meeting  every 
body  like  this.  Not  that  bad  enough  things  aren't  pos 
sible  when  perfectly  good  boys  of  people  we  know  are  as 
dull  as  Arthur  Wintermute.  But  I'm  getting  to  feel  as 
though  Nick  were  a  sort  of  life  preserver,  and  I  don't 
want  him  to  get  out  of  reach.  If  things  were  as  they 
were  before  the  war  I  wouldn't  be  so  much  concerned, 
but  now  people  like  us  seem  to  be  standing  on  quicksand. 
Be  sure  you  keep  Nick  in  her  mind  all  the  time  you're 
there  —  will  you,  Frank  ?  " 

Frank  Carver,  planning  to  give  his  daughter  the  hap 
piest  sort  of  vacation,  found  himself  suddenly  wonder 
ing  what  she  would  like  to  do.  He  knew  what  she  had 
liked  as  a  little  girl,  —  fishing  and  riding  and  games  and 
mechanical  toys;  but  something  told  him  that  her  tastes 
might  be  changing.  Well,  anyway,  she  was  probably  as 
fond  of  candy  as  ever  —  and  on  his  way  to  the  train  he 
laid  in  a  stock  of  the  most  wonderful  sweets  New  York 
could  provide.  And  then  on  a  sudden  shamefaced  im 
pulse,  born  of  the  fact  that  the  sun  glared  distressingly 


148  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

from  the  newly  sprinkled  pavement,  he  stopped  his  motor 
before  a  shop  window  that  displayed  parasols,  and  bought 
a  wonderful  confection  of  satin  and  lace  with  a  handle  of 
ivory.  He  didn't  feel  that  the  purchases  which  his  man 
carried  into  the  train  after  him  were  at  all  adequate;  he 
was  confessedly  humble  minded  about  them,  but  he  hadn't 
known  what  else  to  bring. 

He  sat  in  the  pullman  eyeing  the  parasol  box  morosely 
and  trying  to  think  what  Mildred  would  like  to  do  in 
this  vacation  week  of  hers.  There  were  the  theaters  — 
but  he  wasn't  sure  whether  Minneapolis  had  any  that 
were  good.  They  could  get  a  motor,  of  course  —  Mil 
dred  had  always  had  a  car;  and  there  was  the  river  — 
and  there  might  be  ball  games  or  tennis  matches  or  some 
thing.  Frank  Carver  began  to  get  panicky  as  the  train 
carried  him  west  —  what  was  he  going  to  do  with  this 
girl  of  his,  that  he  had  been  a  stranger  to  for  half  a  year? 
There  was  nothing  but  the  resources  of  a  great  city  and 
plenty  of  money  to  amuse  her  with,  and  he  began  to  feel 
helpless.  And  after  all  her  work  she  must  need  amuse 
ment  !  He  began  to  consider  the  parasol  box  hopelessly. 
If  he  only  knew  the  town  better!  Why  had  she  hap 
pened  to  pick  out  Minneapolis,  anyway?  Was  it  the 
nearest  large  city?  He  sent  the  porter  for  a  railroad 
map.  No,  it  wasn't  the  nearest  to  the  last  address  she 
had  given  —  not  by  some  inches  on  the  map !  Omaha 
and  Kansas  City  were  nearer  and  Chicago  wasn't  any 
further  away !  What  possessed  the  child  to  pick  out  that 
place !  As  though  she  hadn't  had  enough  of  it  when  she 
was  working  in  the  flour  mill !  Strange  thing  for  her  to 
do !  He  got  the  explanation  the  second  day. 

Mildred  came  down  to  breakfast  with  her  hat  on  and 
began  to  hurry  her  breakfast. 

"  I'll  just  run  over  to  the  mill,  father,  while  you're  read 
ing  your  paper,"  she  remarked  casually. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  149 

"  What  mill  ?  "  he  inquired  in  surprise. 

"Why,  the  mill  I  worked  in!  "  she  answered  with  a 
surprise  greater  than  his  own  —  could  there  be  more  than 
one  mill  she  would  want  to  see  ? 

"  All  right,  daughter  —  I'll  be  ready  in  a  few  min 
utes." 

"  Oh,  no,  father,"  her  consternation  was  evident. 
"  Oh,  no !  "  and  then  more  gently,  "  I  wouldn't  feel  com 
fortable  to  make  you  go  way  out  there." 

Frank  Carver  was  somewhat  disconcerted.  In  effect 
his  daughter  had  told  him  that  she  didn't  want  him  along. 

"  Very  well !  "  he  said  quietly,  "  just  push  the  cream 
this  way,  please  —  thank  you  —  I'll  wait  till  you  come 
back,"  and  seeing  Mildred  rise,  "  Waiter,  call  a  taxi." 

"  Oh,  father !  A  taxi !  I'd  feel  so  queer  when  we  al 
ways  walked!  " 

"  I'd  rather  you'd  take  one,  my  dear  —  and  then 
you'll  be  back  sooner.  Taxi's  here,  is  it?  Thank  you." 

He  rose  and  escorted  his  young  recruit  through  the 
lobby,  put  her  in  the  cab,  as  a  daughter  of  the  Carvers 
had  always  been  installed  in  her  chariot,  and  closed  the 
door. 

"  Wait  and  bring  the  lady  back,  driver.  What's  the 
address,  Mildred?  Just  the  government  flour  mill ?  You 
know  it,  do  you,  driver?  Very  well." 

He  felt  the  incongruousness  of  it  —  a  sort  of  double- 
edged  incongruousness.  Here  was  the  carefully  guarded 
daughter  of  his  house  going  alone  and  quite  unprotected 
in  a  mere  public  conveyance  to  visit  a  manufacturing 
plant ;  but  here  was  also  a  recruit  in  the  government  serv 
ice  wearing  the  uniform  of  the  United  States,  being  tim 
orously  conveyed  to  the  place  where  she  had  been 
employed  in  a  privately  hired  taxicab.  Looking  after 
her  till  the  cab  turned  the  corner,  he  was  conscious  of  a 


150  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

distressing  lack  of  coordination  in  his  thinking  parts. 
Back  at  his  table  he  sat  idly  stirring  his  coffee,  discon 
certed  and  a  little  hurt.  He  had  intended  to  give  Mildred 
the  parasol  after  breakfast  —  it  was  just  the  sort  of  day 
when  he  thought  a  girl  would  like  one  to  carry  —  but,  of 
course,  it  would  have  been  out  of  place  in  a  flour  mill. 
When  she  got  back  — 

It  was  almost  noon  before  she  came  into  their  little 
sitting  room,  showing  no  consciousness  of  any  particular 
obligation  to  have  returned  earlier. 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  time?  "  there  was  a  certain 
intent  of  irony  in  Frank  Carver's  question,  but  his  daugh 
ter  didn't  perceive  it. 

"  Oh,  father  —  isn't  the  way  they  make  things  per 
fectly  wonderful!  There  were  a  lot  of  things  I  didn't 
understand  about  the  mill  while  I  was  in  it  —  ways 
the  machines  worked,  you  know,  and  exactly  what  they 
did.  Of  course,  I  was  only  sewing  up  sacks,  anyway." 

"  Didn't  you  ever  go  through  it  all  ?  " 

"  Lots  of  times  —  only  I  didn't  understand  it.  But 
working  with  the  tractor  and  having  to  clean  the  engine 
and  all  the  plows  and  harrows  and  things  —  why  it  makes 
me  know  a  lot  about  the  way  machines  work !  Mr.  Bar 
ton  took  me  all  over  it  again  today  and  told  me  about  ev 
erything  and  I  found  I  understood  much  better." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Barton?" 

"  Why,  he's  the  foreman !  " 

Frank  felt  the  surprise  in  her  tones.  It  was  as  though 
he  had  asked,  "  Who  is  Edison?  " 

Mildred  curled  up  in  an  overstuffed  chair,  tossed  her 
hat  on  the  table  and  began  to  talk  about  farm  and  mill 
machinery  with  an  unconscious  command  of  the  special 
ized  vocabulary  which  left  her  father  gasping.  Valves 
and  controls  and  differentials  and  a  whole  catalogue  of 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  151 

terms  that  he  knew  by  reputation  only,  not  by  personal 
introduction,  seemed  to  be  the  familiars  of  his  blue-eyed 
daughter.  He  asked  her  a  question  now  and  then  just 
to  keep  her  talking,  and  all  the  time  he  was  studying  the 
new  thing  she  had  become  in  mixed  wonder  and  appre 
ciation.  Mildred  was  just  saying: 

"  The  trouble  with  the  older  form  of  hopper  appears 
to  be  the  difficulty  of  readjusting  it  quickly.  If  you  have 
to  disconnect  it  — 

When  he  happened  to  glance  through  the  door  of  his 
bedroom  and  see  the  parasol  box !  He  remembered  how 
the  clerk  who  had  sold  it  to  him  had  floated  and  serpen 
tined  about  in  her  high-heeled  boots,  fluttering  its  frills. 
Potentially  she  stood  in  ruffled  silk  beside  a  lagoon,  drop 
ping  crumbs  to  swimming  swans!  At  least  he  had  had 
that  sort  of  a  Watteau  picture  of  his  daughter  when  he 
bought  the  thing.  But  Mildred  sat  before  him  in  the 
flesh,  dressed  in  brown  khaki  buttoned  to  the  throat.  Her 
knees  were  crossed  and  she  swung  one  thick-booted  foot 
back  and  forth  and  she  talked  of  lubricating  graphite  and 
the  waste  of  power  in  changing  gears!  It  seemed  an 
inappropriate  moment  for  parasols  and  they  went  to 
lunch. 

The  next  morning  she  announced  serenely : 

"I'm  going  to  dinner  with  Mr.  Barton  to-morrow  night. 
You  won't  mind  if  I  leave  you,  will  you,  Father?  You 
see  I  haven't  seen  him  for  nearly  four  months." 

Frank  Carver  was  acutely  conscious  that  girls  of 
eighteen  are  not  supposed  to  dine  alone  in  restaurants 
with  men;  but  looking  into  the  clear  eyes  of  his  khaki- 
clad  girl,  he  realized,  that  for  a  citizen  serving  her  coun 
try,  for  a  girl  who  had  driven  a  traction  engine  from  the 
30th  to  the  45th  parallel  of  latitude,  who  has  watched 
the  sun  rise  from  the  southern  bayous  to  the  northern 


152  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

hills,  chaperones  and  what  they  implied  were  forever  ob 
solete. 

So  Mildred  dined  with  the  foreman  and  afterward  they 
went  to  a  moving  picture  show,  and  at  ten  o'clock  he  es 
corted  her  back  to  the  hotel  and  was  met  by  Frank  wait 
ing  by  seeming  accident  in  the  lobby. 

"  Glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Carver.  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  being  introduced  to  your  wife  last  year," 
said  John  Barton  with  amiable  condescension.  "  Your 
daughter  here  tells  me  you've  come  clear  from  New  York 
to  pass  the  week  with  her  —  some  trip !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank  Carver  feebly. 

"  You  holding  down  a  job  that  will  wait  till  you  get 
back?" 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Frank,  trying  to  adjust  himself  to 
the  role  of  somebody's  employee. 

"What's  your  line?" 

The  multitudinous  magnate  made  a  hasty  survey  of  his 
crowding  interests  and  hazarded  : 

"  Steel." 

"  Didn't  know  there  were  any  steel  mills  in  New  York." 

"  Well,  no.     They  aren't  exactly  in  the  city." 

"  I  suppose  you  can  get  me  a  chance  to  go  through  them 
when  I  come  to  New  York  ?  " 

"  I  —  yes,  I  think  so.     Are  you  coming  soon?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly  what  you  would  call  soon,  I  guess. 
Some  time  along  in  the  fall  if  there's  anybody  there  would 
care  to  see  me." 

Mildred,  smiling  quietly,  didn't  seem  to  grasp  the  full 
significance  of  the  talk,  but  the  men,  looking  straight  into 
each  other's  eyes,  understood  perfectly. 

Of  course  it  wasn't  to  be  thought  of!  Frank  Carver 
knew  that.  This  man  was  a  foreman  in  the  flour  mill 
with  the  training  that  fitted  him  for  that  work,  and  his 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  153 

daughter  was  Miss  Carver  of  New  York  —  but  suppose, 
just  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  they  had  been  of  the 
same  social  and  financial  level !  Frank  felt  —  and  he 
prided  himself  on  a  knowledge  of  men  —  that  John  Bar 
ton  was  the  type  he  would  have  chosen  for  a  son-in-law. 
But  it  was  a  question  that,  of  course,  he  could  only  con 
sider  academically. 

Frank  didn't  sleep  much  that  night  —  there  seemed 
no  special  need  for  it.  He  was  too  busy  thinking  out  this 
new  difficulty  to  notice  how  the  hours  slid  by.  For  the 
foreman  was  in  love  with  Mildred  —  there  was  no  ques 
tion  about  that!  Did  Mildred  know  it?  He  wasn't 
sure.  But  undoubtedly  John  Barton  was  the  determining 
factor  that  had  drawn  her  to  Minneapolis.  Here  was 
probably  the  root  of  Mildred's  interest  in  machinery. 
Such  things  weren't  natural  to  girls  of  her  age.  And 
then  suddenly  he  saw  her  married  to  the  foreman,  the 
wife  of  a  mechanic!  He  had  many  such  in  his  employ. 
The  man  was  paid  probably  about  three  thousand  dollars 
a  year  and  he  would  keep  on  earning  it,  with  good  fortune 
and  no  accidents,  till  he  was  past  fifty.  After  that  age 
the  experience  of  the  companies  in  which  he  was  inter 
ested  showed  that  a  lack  of  physical  alertness  made  a 
man  an  unsatisfactory  employee  in  a  factory.  Of  course 
there  was  the  government  pension  —  Frank  Carver  didn't 
remember  just  how  much  that  was.  It  wasn't  the  money 
—  there  was  money  enough  for  his  daughter  no  matter 
whom  she  married.  It  was  a  question  of  the  kind  of  life 
implied  by  it  all.  He  had  a  vision  of  tiny  front  halls 
with  oilcloth  in  them,  wives  in  gingham  aprons,  laden 
clothes  lines  in  crowded  back  yards  —  this  was  the  sort 
of  thing  John  Barton  would  take  for  granted.  And  then 
he  thought  of  the  white  parasol !  She  would  carry  it  — 
to  church!  And  she  would  carry  it  perpetually  without 


154  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

regard  to  changing  fashions  or  suitability  simply  because 
the  duplication  of  such  things  in  the  lifetime  of  a  fore 
man's  wife  was  impossible.  And  then  he  thought  how 
delightfully  the  lace  fluttered  around  the  edge,  and  how 
the  carved  dragon  on  the  handle  turned  and  twisted ;  and 
how,  lovely  as  it  was,  it  was  as  nothing  to  what  his  daugh 
ter  could  have  if  she  chose;  and  he  wondered  if  all  the 
things  the  parasol  represented  would  together  prove  a 
lure  to  this  girl  who  had  always  had  so  much  that  going 
without  might  seem  an  adventure.  He  couldn't  let  her 
marry  the  foreman  of  a  mill.  It  was  out  of  the  question 
-  but  in  these  three  days  he  had  discovered  his  daughter 
grown  into  an  independent  individual.  His  final  con 
clusion  was  that  he  had  best  talk  it  out  with  Mildred  her 
self  —  in  his  state  of  nervous  fatigue  that  seemed  a  satis 
fying  determination  and  under  the  wing  of  it  he  managed 
to  go  to  sleep. 

He  woke  with  the  obligation  to  talk  it  out  with  Mildred 
as  strong  about  him  as  a  prison.  Everything  in  the  day 
must  be  bent  to  that.  He  had  set  the  package  containing 
the  parasol  resolutely  away  in  the  wardrobe  in  his 
room.  But  breakfast  didn't  seem  a  good  time. 
Mildred  was  so  blue-eyed,  red-lipped  and  golden- 
haired!  She  ate  her  grapefruit  with  such  childish 
relish;  she  deluged  her  oatmeal  with  cream  in  such 
a  consciously  reprehensible  way;  she  stole  his  extra 
toast  so  obviously,  and  laughed  at  him  so  charm 
ingly  when  he  pretended  to  be  surprised  at  not  finding  it ; 
and  was  so  altogether  bewitching  even  to  a  father,  that 
Frank  Carver  decided  not  to  mention  it  till  breakfast  was 
over.  And  then  Mildred  was  just  in  the  mood  to  keep  on 
playing,  and  they  decided  to  go  out  to  Lake  Minnetonka, 
which  neither  of  them  had  seen,  and  Mildred  hoped  it 
would  be  like  Coney  Island  because  she  had  never  been 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  155 

there,  and  Frank  hoped  it  wouldn't  because  he  had. 
And  they  motored  out  through  the  fresh  heat  of  the  early 
summer,  and  that  was  no  time  to  talk  it  out,  and  when  the 
chauffeur  stopped  with  the  lake  spread  out  before  them, 
there,  coming  to  the  dock,  was  a  boat  with  a  high  double 
deck  and  the  slightly  inebriated  carriage  as  of  a  man  likely 
to  lose  his  balance ;  and  when  the  boat  whistled  in  a  deep 
bass  voice  quite  out  of  keeping  with  its  size,  it  visibly  lost 
headway  from  the  effort.  People  were  running  down 
the  pier  to  get  aboard  and  Mildred  wanted  to  go  too,  so 
they  dashed  after  the  crowd  and  found  places  on  the  after 
deck.  And  of  course  it  wasn't  a  good  place  to  talk  it  out 
with  so  many  people  about  — •  though  Frank  thought  he 
had  made  a  mistake  in  not  bringing  the  parasol,  for  this 
would  have  been  the  time  to  use  it. 

Another  girl  in  uniform  smiled  at  Mildred  and  asked 
what  Service  she  was  in. 

"  I'm  in  the  telegraph,"  she  offered,  "  and  maybe  they'll 
put  me  in  the  wireless  division  when  I  go  back." 

"  Is  it  your  vacation,  too?  " 

"  Yes,  and  it  seems  as  if  I'd  just  got  home  and  had  to 
go  right  back  again !  " 

The  freemasonry  of  the  Service  kept  them  talking  and 
Frank  found  himself  drawn  in,  and  then  some  other 
people  who  were  with  the  telegraph  girl  came  across  to 
join  them  in  the  simplest,  most  friendly  way  and  they  all 
talked  together,  nonsense,  and  personalities  and  politics 
and  told  alleged  funny  stories  and  tried  to  guess  riddles 
and  chewed  gum  and  at  last  began  to  sing  popular  songs 
and  eat  peanuts  and  candy,  and  Mildred  brought  out  a 
box  of  superlative  sweets  which  she  had  tucked  into  the 
motor,  and  they  all  exclaimed  at  it  and  called  it  "  grand  " 
but  quite  evidently  preferred  peanut  brittle  when  it  came 
to  eating,  and  had  altogether  a  most  innocent  middle-class 


156  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

time,  and  Frank  Carver,  joining  in  the  singing  and  order 
ing  relays  of  pop  and  ginger  ale  for  the  company,  enjoyed 
himself  hugely,  but  didn't  find  it  a  good  time  to  talk  it  out 
with  Mildred.  They  landed  way  up  the  lake  in  a  grassy 
cove  to  wait  till  the  boat  came  back  again.  And  here 
Mildred  began  to  pick  wild  flowers  and  led  him  wander 
ing  up  a  shaded  path  and  into  a  meadow  where  two 
friendly  rabbits  loped  off  as  they  came.  There  was, 
whenever  they  mounted  a  little  rise,  —  the  sense  of  a  lim 
itless  land  only  half  tamed  to  human  service. 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  Mildred  lightly,  "  that  I  don't  have  to 
plow  it  all." 

They  were  alone  now  and  the  afternoon  sun  worked  out 
intricate  problems  in  triangulation  with  the  trees.  But 
Mildred  was  still  gathering  flowers  and  chattering  of  this 
and  that  and  it  seemed  a  pity  to  break  her  fun  by  talking 
it  out  just  then. 

The  path  led  them  deceitfully  back  to  the  boat  landing, 
and  then  it  pleased  Mildred  to  sit  on  the  grass  and  make 
her  wildflowers  into  a  wreath,  and  put  it  on  her  father's 
head ;  and  a  slightly  bald  gentleman  in  a  straggling,  tick 
ling  wreath  is  in  no  position  to  talk  anything  out  with  any 
body.  And  then  the  boat  whistle  was  heard  around  the 
point  of  the  land  and  Frank,  hastily  divesting  himself  of 
his  wreath,  assumed  such  dignity  as  he  could  at  short  no 
tice,  and  followed  his  frivolous-minded,  giggling  daugh 
ter  across  the  gang  plank.  And  the  crowd  going  back  sang 
the  same  songs  and  ate  peanuts  and  drank  pop  in  the  same 
hilarious  light-heartedness,  and  Mildred  and  her  father 
again  became  part  of  the  fun;  and  they  both  went  almost 
to  sleep  going  home  in  the  motor,  and  when  they  got  back 
to  the  hotel  they  had  just  energy  left  to  get  to  bed  —  and 
here  was  the  whole  day  gone  and  things  hadn't  been  talked 
out  yet ! 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  157 

That  boat  trip  was  a  disconcerting  thing  for  Frank 
Carver.  He  had  met  plenty  of  middle-class  and  work 
ing  people  in  his  life,  but  not  as  being  one  of  them. 
Usually  they  had  been  people  he  employed.  He  had 
rather  taken  it  for  granted  that  he  and  his  kind  bore  dis 
tinguishing  signs  —  subtleties  of  accent  and  manner, 
which  would  inevitably  mark  them  off  from  other  folks, 
but  if  it  was  so,  these  people  didn't  know  it.  They  simply 
took  him  and  Mildred  for  granted,  and  for  Mildred  this 
did  not  satisfy  him,  as  how  could  one  know  if  these  were 
all  people  his  daughter  ought  to  meet?  But  for  himself 
he  enjoyed  it  hugely  —  was  it  not  an  adventure  in  the 
middle  class  ? 

The  next  morning  Frank  Carver  took  himself  firmly  in 
hand.  Here  he  had  hardly  mentioned  Nick  Van  Arsdale 
and  he  had  promised  Mary  that  he  would  keep  him  con 
tinually  in  Mildred's  mind;  he  hadn't  presented  the  par 
asol  which  might  be  taken  as  a  symbol  of  the  life  that 
marriage  with  Nick  implied;  he  hadn't  stood  between 
Mildred  and  her  perfectly  impossible  admirer;  he  hadn't 
even  talked  the  matter  over  with  his  daughter  —  which 
was  about  the  least  that  a  father  could  expect  of  himself. 
He  told  himself  that  he  must  do  better  than  this. 

That  night  he  privately  arranged  to  take  Mildred  to 
St.  Paul  for  what  he  hoped  wouldn't  be  an  any-worse- 
than-usual  musical  show,  and  told  her  about  it  afterward. 
Just  as  he  was  ordering  a  motor,  which  he  took  as  much 
for  granted  as  his  shoes,  Mildred  interfered. 

"  Oh,  Father,  let's  take  the  trolley.  We  always  take 
the  trolley  in  the  Service  and  it's  such  fun." 

Her  father  didn't  think  it  fun  but  this  was  Mildred's 
vacation,  not  his.  And  wrhen  a  violent  thunder  storm  put 
the  electric  power  system  temporarily  out  of  business  on 
the  way  home  and  left  them  for  an  hour  in  the  midst  of 


158  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

sloshing  rain,  and  flashing  light,  he  bore  it  very  well,  and 
explained  as  far  as  his  knowledge  went,  just  what  hap 
pened  in  case  of  a  short  circuit  and  what  the  electricians 
were  probably  doing  about  it  at  that  moment.  It  might 
have  been  a  good  chance  to  talk  it  over  with  Mildred,  - 
they  were  in  the  comparative  privacy  of  a  trolley  car  with 
only  a  dozen  or  so  extraneous  people  —  but  when  a  man 
is  trying  to  satisfy  the  bright  and  inquiring  mind  of  his 
offspring  on  a  subject  which  he  only  half  understands,  he 
is  in  no  position  to  be  impressive. 

And  when  they  finally  got  back  to  their  hotel  they 
found  that  John  Barton  had  called  and  left  his  name  — 
not  his  card  —  with  the  clerk. 

Frank  Carver  suggested  various  forms  of  entertain 
ment  for  the  next  evening  but  Mildred  hadn't  been  able 
to  decide  which  she  preferred  —  they  were  still  discussing 
it  at  their  dinner  —  when  the  boy  from  the  lobby  came  to 
their  table  and  announced  "  Mr.  Barton  calling." 

That  evening  spent  with  John  Barton  in  their  little  ho 
tel  sitting  room  taught  Frank  Carver  several  things.  He 
saw  that  not  only  was  the  man  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
social  and  financial  position  of  his  daughter,  but  that  he 
didn't  know  the  real  Mildred  at  all.  Her  mind,  her  dis 
position,  her  experiences,  her  tastes,  were  things  with 
which  he  didn't  even  concern  himself.  He  loved  in  her  the 
beautiful  promise  of  the  intelligent,  housekeeping,  child- 
raising  wife  which  would  fulfill  his  dream  of  what  life 
should  be.  Frank  Carver  was  learning  that  his  daughter 
was  an  elaborately  differentiated  individual ;  John  Barton 
saw  Mildred  only  as  his  particular  feminine  complement. 
If  Mildred  could  understand  this,  it  might  solve  his  prob 
lem.  Decidedly  he  must  talk  it  out  with  her. 

It  was  evident  also  that  Mildred  gave  John  Barton  no 
more  chance  to  find  out  what  she  thought  and  felt  than 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  159 

as  though  she  had  been  in  his  congregation  in  church. 
She  listened  and  she  responded,  that  was  all,  and  there 
was  enough  of  the  preacher  in  John  Barton  to  make  him 
content  with  this. 

The  next  day  was  their  last  in  Minneapolis  and  Frank 
felt  that  he  had  discharged  his  trust  from  Mary  so  ill 
that  he  had  better  go  with  Mildred  to  her  first  stopping 
place.  When  she  was  actually  at  the  field  work  and  out 
of  John  Barton's  sphere  of  influence,  he  might  really  get 
a  chance  to  give  her  the  advice  she  had  a  right  to  have. 
He  couldn't  go  back  to  New  York  with  that  sense  of  fail 
ure  on  him. 

And  just  as  they  were  following  the  porter  with  their 
bags  out  of  the  door,  the  chambermaid,  intent  on  collect 
ing  a  tip,  appeared  in  the  offing.  Frank  put  his  hand  in 
his  pocket  and  then  a  slow  flush  rose  to  his  face.  He 
stepped  quickly  up  to  the  girl  and  spoke  very  low : 

"  There's  a  package  in  the  closet  in  my  room  —  a- par 
asol  —  it's  for  you." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A"  midsummer  the  great  wheat  harvest  stands  just 
between  full  eared  perfection  and  the  dropping 
of  the  dead  ripe  grain  to  the  ground,  which  is 
Nature's  na'ive  way  of  preparing  for  next  year's  spring. 
Between  Nature  and  her  thriftless  intention  rush  a  hun 
dred  thousand  boys  and  girls  with  steam-fed  steeds  and 
chariots  breathing  gasoline. 

Frank  Carver,  following  discreetly  after  the  troop  bus 
which  carried  his  daughter  out  to  the  fields  just  as  the 
sun  drove  red-hot  darts  vertically  into  the  baking  prairie, 
thought  that  civilization  had  still  a  long  way  to  go  before 
farm  labor  would  become  an  occupation  he  would  choose 
for  his  daughter. 

When  he  finally  passed  through  the  cloud  of  dust  that 
rose  behind  the  bus  like  the  noonday  ghost  of  drought,  he 
saw  Mildred  trying  her  levers,  making  sure  that  every 
thing  worked  and  then  mounting  above  those  unreason 
ably  formidable  wheels  and  bars  and  chains,  throw  in  her 
clutch  with  the  swift  certainty  of  a  professional  and  start 
away  across  the  prairie  with  a  great  grain  cutting  machine 
clanking  and  clattering  at  her  heels. 

The  farm  they  were  to  reap  was  divided  into  compar 
atively  small  fields,  so  instead  of  their  usual  three  tractor 
team,  Mildred  and  Winkles  were  sent  out  together,  — 
Winkles  in  the  lead  and  Mildred  taking  the  dust.  The 
great  machines  crawled  up  and  down  over  the  gentle  roll 
of  the  prairie;  up  and  down,  on  and  on  toward  nothing 
more  final  than  a  cobwebby  wire  fence  in  the  distance  and 

160 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  161 

some  tentative  sticks  of  trees,  trying  obligingly  to  accli 
mate  themselves  where  nothing  but  human  preference 
gave  them  any  reason  for  growing.  Not  a  dreary  land 
scape  since  it  was  yielding  generously  under  the  plow,  but 
with  all  the  deadly  monotony  of  assured  adventureless 
comfort.  The  reapers  went  on  till  the  noise  of  their  en 
gines  came  to  Frank  Carver  like  the  buzzing  of  a  blue 
bottle,  then  turned  over  a  little  hill  and  disappeared. 

Frank  Carver  got  thoughtfully  into  his  car  again  and 
told  the  driver  to  take  him  back  to  the  barracks.  Here 
he  sought  out  Quartermaster  Alice  Farrington  and  began 
to  ask  her  questions.  She  was  a  square,  direct  woman 
with  clear  eyes  that  met  you  fairly,  a  woman  would  have 
handed  her  baby  to  her  with  certainty  that  it  would  be 
content,  a  man  would  have  given  her  the  keys  to  his  strong 
box  if  not  to  his  heart;  a  mother  would  have  welcomed 
her  as  the  bride  of  an  only  son  —  can  I  say  more,  except 
that  the  only  son  probably  wouldn't  have  married  her  ? 

"When  will  my  daughter  be  back?"  Frank  inquired. 

Alice  Farrington,  taking  stock  of  his  gray  lounge  suit, 
of  the  gray  hat  exactly  matching  it  and  the  soft  dust  coat 
dropped  over  a  chair  arm,  listening  to  the  clear,  precise 
English  where  every  word  was  a  perfect  entity  developed 
for  a  particular  purpose  and  not  to  be  used  for  any  other 
or  weakened  by  careless  intermingling;  placed  him  rightly 
as  a  privileged  person. 

"  Not  till  after  seven  on  this  shift  —  we  get  in  twelve 
good  hours  of  daylight  work  now." 

"And  then?" 

"  Dinner  as  soon  as  they've  washed  up." 

Frank  Carver  winced  —  "  washed  up  "  was  a  phrase 
he  had  heard  his  mill-hands  use. 

"  And  bed  as  soon  after  nine  as  they  can  be  persuaded 
to  go." 

H 


162  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  And  between  dinner  and  bed?  " 

"  Oh,  usually  some  of  the  boys  and  men  come  from 
their  barracks  or  the  girls  walk  out  in  the  evening  —  or 
they  sing  or  dance  if  they  feel  like  it." 

"  Are  there  —  guests  —  every  evening?  " 

"  Whenever  they  care  to  come." 

"  But  only  those  you  know  —  only  recruits  in  the 
Service?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  Anybody  any  of  them  know  —  people  they 
happen  to  meet,  if  they  choose  to  ask  them." 

Frank  Carver  heard  himself  gasp. 

"  But  young  girls !  —  Are  they  always  people  they 
ought  to  meet  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  people  you  would  ask  to  your  home  —  people 
whose  character  —  men  especially  - 

He  felt  himself  floundering  distressfully. 

"  Oh,  that!  Well,  in  the  sense  you  mean  probably  not. 
But  don't  you  think  everybody  ought  to  know  every  kind 
of  people?  " 

"But  young  girls  —  Miss  Farrington!" 

"  Recruits  in  the  government  Service,  Mr.  Carver !  " 

Frank  stirred  impatiently. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Alice  Farrington,  smoothing 
the  blue  cotton  over  her  knees,  "  that  we  are  long  past 
the  stage  where  the  gospel  of  '  hush '  can  be  preached  to 
any  of  us  any  more.  We've  got  to  know  what  kind  of 
people  and  what  kind  of  things  actually  exist  in  the  world 
we're  living  in.  These  girls  aren't  children.  Most  of 
them  have  had  a  lot  of  experience  already." 

What  the  quartermaster  said  filled  Frank  with  a  vague 
alarm.  He  had  been  bred  in  the  tradition  that  young  girls 
should  be  shielded  and  guarded  from  even  a  knowledge 
of  the  unsavory  things  of  life,  much  more  from  actual 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  163 

personal  contact  with  them.  But  this  unrestricted  social 
intercourse  had  already  been  going  on  for  more  than  six 
months  and  though  Mildred  was  undoubtedly  different  as 
a  result  of  it,  she  wasn't  changed  for  the  worse.  Look 
ing  at  Alice  Farrington  he  felt  reassured  as  to  the  out 
come  although  he  profoundly  distrusted  the  means. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  she  continued  definitely,  "  we 
have  had  surprisingly  little  trouble  —  far  less  than  with 
the  same  number  of  girls  at  home.  There  isn't  much 
temptation  to  sex  irregularities,  because  they're  all  so 
busy  that  there  isn't  any  dullness  to  relieve  in  that  way; 
and  they  aren't  forced  to  it  to  earn  a  living  because  that's 
provided  for  in  the  Service.  Of  course,  we  occasionally 
come  upon  abnormal  types  —  boys  and  girls  both  —  and 
then  we  send  them  to  the  hospital  camps  for  observation. 
No,  we  have  practically  no  girls  becoming  mothers  while 
they're  in  the  Service.  It's  good  training  here  —  it 
works !  " 

Frank  felt  himself  turning  sick  and  cold  at  the  sugges 
tion,  —  even  the  suggestion  that  such  things  could  hap 
pen  in  the  same  Service  where  his  daughter  was ! 

That  very  day  Mildred  came  back  with  the  story  of  a 
real  adventure.  Winkles  and  she  had  finished  one  field 
and  were  driving  their  machines  across  an  open  space 
arranged  for  the  feeding  of  steers  and  hogs  to  be  fattened 
for  the  Chicago  packers.  Down  the  middle  of  it  was  a 
sort  of  giant  lunch  counter  on  which  the  ration  for  the 
steers  was  already  spread.  The  girls  were  running  their 
tractors  across  this  empty  space  toward  the  next  field 
they  were  to  reap  when  Mildred's  machine  was  taken  with 
an  internal  convulsion  and  stopped,  shuddering.  Both 
the  girls  were  down  on  the  ground  peering  under  the  balk 
ing  engine,  when  the  gates  at  the  further  edge  of  the  field 
were  opened  and  a  wave  of  spreading  horns  and  tramp 
ling  hoofs  started  toward  them. 


164  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"Quick,  Mildred,  quick!  Go  back  up,  quick!"  cried 
Winkles. 

They  scrambled  up  desperately  to  their  seats  before  the 
terrifying  charge  of  the  hungry  steers  and  the  drove  of 
squealing  hogs,  twice  their  number,  that  ran  with  them. 
Mildred  tried  to  be  ashamed  of  her  fright  and  cheer  up 
Winkles. 

"  Of  course,  they  won't  hurt  us,  Winkles  — .it's  —  it's 
just  because  they're  so  hungry.  Oh,  keep  off !  Stop !  — 
Go  away,  you  awful  thing!  " 

A  great  roan  beast  had  seemed  to  think  that  Mildred's 
tractor  was  a  sort  of  side  table  set  for  his  private  delec 
tation. 

"  It  is  true  perhaps  they  do  not  eat  girls,  Mildred  - 
but  there  are  more  ways  to  die  than  by  eating!     Look 
what  they  do  there!  " 

The  steers  crowded  around  the  tables,  horning  and 
shouldering  each  other,  sometimes  getting  their  hoofs 
upon  the  table  in  their  eagerness,  and  kicking  and  tramp 
ling  the  squealing  hogs  who  could  only  get  the  grain  that 
fell  from  the  table. 

"  We  might  get  down  and  run  to  the  fence  —  "  sug 
gested  Mildred. 

"  No  —  they  can  run  faster  than  we  —  think  how 
they  came,  like  stones  down  the  mountain  side !  " 

"  Oh  —  oh  —  Winkles !  —  oh,  they're  eating  it  all  up ! 
Oh,  they'll  come  over  here  —  oh !  " 

They  did !  They  wandered  around  in  seeming  abstrac 
tion  and  the  girls  came  in  for  a  share  of  their  careless 
attention.  One  enterprising  animal  with  an  investigative 
spirit  toward  machinery  caused  Winkles  to  see  approach 
ing  dissolution  and  she  screamed  again  and  again. 

And  then  out  of  the  sunset  came  a  figure  sitting  a  great 
white  horse  —  a  figure  haloed  with  light,  vast,  shouldered 
like  Launcelot  —  and  trotted  toward  them. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  165 

"  Say,  don'  be  scare !  "  he  called  when  he  was  near 
enough.  "  Dey  don'  hurt  you !  " 

To  the  girls  he  was  nevertheless  a  rescuing  paladin  be 
cause  in  reality  he  was  a  particularly  good  looking 
Swedish  farm  hand  working  on  the  ranch. 

"  Dey  don'  hurt,"  he  repeated  with  a  slow  smile. 

His  way  of  hustling  the  feeding  beasts  about  with  a 
stick  struck  them  as  a  wonderful  piece  of  heroism. 

"  Now  you  go  all  right,"  he  said  after  he  had  cleared 
a  path. 

But  the  girls  were  too  shaken  to  come  down,  and  be 
sides,  the  hogs  of  which  he  seemed  to  take  no  account  also 
looked  dangerous  to  them.  So  after  further  considera 
tion  he  dismounted,  carried  first  Winkles  and  then  Mil 
dred  to  his  great  white  horse  and  led  it  to  the  field  where 
the  bus  waited.  To  their  relieved  thanks  he  responded 
with  a  slow  smile  and  the  cryptic  remark : 

"  I  come." 

The  next  evening  he  did  come  bearing  votive  offerings 
of  orchard  fruits.  As  he  entered  the  barracks  Winkles 
looked  up  at  him  with  obvious  delight  —  there  was  a 
frankness  about  her  that  precluded  blushes  —  but  her 
eyes  were  like  the  topaz  and  the  black  diamond  rolled 
into  one.  Not  one  of  the  boys  in  the  Unit  was  like  him 
—  a  Son  of  the  Morning  and  great  as  the  gods  of  the 
hills !  She  was  no  tribe  purist  —  this  girl  from  the  edge 
of  Syria.  Her  fathers  had  gladly  sold  their  daughters 
into  the  harems  of  the  Orient  for  a  thousand  years  and 
there  was  family  pride  if  the  price  was  high!  She  had 
no  predilection  for  squat,  swarthy  men  of  her  own  race 
when  she  saw  something  better. 

But  unfortunately  the  big  Swede  was  less  cosmopol 
itan.  His  ideal  was  buxom  with  blue  eyes  and  light  hair 
like  the  girls  he  had  known  in  Sweden.  So  his  eyes  trav- 


166  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

eled  past  Winkles  to  where  Mildred  sat  on  the  far  win 
dow  seat  with  her  father,  and  his  slow  feet  followed  his 
quick  eyes. 

'You  vas  Svede?"  he  inquired,  quite  ignoring  her 
introduction  to  Frank  as  he  seated  himself  beside  her. 
"  No !  Your  mutter,  she  vas  Svede  ?  No !  Born  dis 
country  ?  Come  now,  you  make  fool  mit  me !  " 

A  great  golden  giant  mounted  on  a  huge  steed  and  with 
the  lines  of  flexing  muscles  molding  the  loose  shirt  that 
covered  them  to  beauty,  is  quite  a  different  person  from  a 
huge  farm  hand  in  his  best  clothes,  green  ready-made  tie, 
and  shiny  yellow  shoes.  But  a  little  of  the  glamour  of 
the  rescuing  knight  still  hung  round  him  —  and  besides 
wasn't  he  too  in  the  great  work  of  feeding  the  world?  So 
Mildred  talked  with  him  so  prettily  and  drew  Winkles  in 
so  tactfully  that  an  immense  interest  in  cattle  and  hogs 
and  corn  and  wheat  and  all  the  other  affairs  of  farming, 
seemed  to  spring  up  of  itself;  and  the  laborer  was  made 
to  see  himself  as  the  focus  of  a  brilliant  intellectual  ef 
fort,  and  as  sending  off  quite  unprecedented  conversa 
tional  sparkles.  It  was  a  flattering  view  of  himself  and 
he  evidently  enjoyed  it. 

The  next  night  he  came  again.  Mildred  feeling  that 
her  previous  efforts  were  all  that  even  a  rescuer  could 
expect,  tried  to  turn  him  over  to  the  willing  Winkles. 
But  he  didn't  turn !  It  was  Mildred's  blue  eyes  and  blond 
braids  that  drew  him,  —  he  had  a  purely  provincial  taste 
in  girls. 

The  third  evening  when  he  appeared  ruminatively  at 
the  barracks,  Frank  Carver  took  his  daughter  by  the  arm 
and  led  her  resolutely  into  the  moonlight.  Evidently  he 
had  got  to  talk  it  out  with  Mildred,  and  that  at  once ! 

But  the  girl  seemed  so  glad  to  come,  so  relieved  to  be 
away  from  both  the  towering  Swede  and  Sam  Wilcox 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  167 

who  still  pervaded  the  middle  distance  in  spite  of  Mamie 
Epstein's  efforts,  that  he  felt  reassured.  She  wasn't  en 
couraging  these  men  anyway,  at  least  no  more  than  the 
spirit  of  adventure  prompted.  But  still  it  ought  to  be 
done! 

"  Mildred,"  he  began,  conversationally  poising  himself 
like  a  boxer,  ready  to  spring  either  way,  "  it  seems  to 
me  that  a  girl  in  the  Service  needs  to  have  a  pretty  steady 
head  —  so  many  unexpected  things  happen  to  her." 

''  You  mean  those  steers  ?  I  was  afraid  of  them  but 
not  so  afraid  as  Winkles.  You  should  have  heard  her 
scream !  But  when  that  man  —  Lindens  is  his  name, 
isn't  it?  —  when  he  came  and  pushed  them  about  just 
the  way  I  saw  a  woman  '  shoo  '  chickens  in  Kansas  — 
why  then  I  saw  they  weren't  dangerous." 

'  They're  dangerous  enough,  Mildred,  if  you  don't 
know  how  to  manage  them  —  and  so  are  men." 

"  Oh,  men !  Why,  all  those  I've  met  are  so  interesting. 
Only  I  keep  thinking  —  it's  rather  conceited,  I  suppose 
—  that  about  a  lot  of  things  I  know  more  than  they  do." 

Frank  was  somewhat  stunned.  Had  he  been  warning 
her  against  the  wiles  of  the  cougar  only  to  find  her  an  ac 
complished  woodsman?  He  found  himself  rejoicing  in 
every  bit  of  independence  and  self -sufficiency  which  he 
discovered  in  his  daughter,  for  she  had  come  to  the  place 
where  not  the  most  athletic  father  could  protect  her,  not 
the  richest  father  could  buy  her  any  sort  of  privilege,  not 
the  wisest  father  could  safeguard  her  with  counsel.  She 
had  nothing  to  depend  on  but  eighteen  years  of  parental 
training  and  the  government  of  the  United  States.  He 
asked  himself,  if  Mildred  was  to  be  unavoidably  thrown 
with  all  the  other  young  people  in  the  country,  wasn't 
it  important  that  they  have  the  chance  to  be  the  sort  of 
people  he  would  be  content  to  have  her  thrown  with? 


168  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

And  yet  Frank  admitted  that  the  Swede's  intentions  were 
undoubtedly  honorable.  There  was  no  doubt  of  his  be 
ing  a  good-looking,  well-grown  man  probably  able  to  pro 
vide  her  with  food  and  clothing  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow 
for  the  rest  of  her  natural  life  and  so,  according  to  his 
standards,  quite  in  a  position  to  marry.  Frank  realized 
that  his  daughter  was  getting  an  amount  of  romantic  ad 
venture  which  she  would  never  have  enjoyed  without  the 
Service,  but  he  was  much  disquieted.  If  such  things 
were  happening  to  the  million  and  a  half  girls  in  the 
Service,  wouldn't  the  human  race  develop  all  sorts  of 
curious  crosses  possibly  non-advantageous  ? 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

IT  was  growing  hot  —  oh,  very  hot  indeed !  The  air 
was  like  a  dry  sponge  that  drew  every  last  drop  of 
moisture  out  of  the  reluctant  land,  and  still  dry, 
rushed  on  to  drain  new  acres.  The  wheat  would  have 
filled  a  little  more  if  there  had  been  rain,  but  full  or  not 
it  was  dead  ripe  and  farmers  breaking  off  a  head  here 
and  there  found  the  stalk  crisp  and  hollow.  The  harvest 
had  come  all  at  once  with  a  rush,  and  there  was  danger 
that  the  kernels  would  drop  from  the  heads  before  the 
grain  could  be  cut.  The  farmers  watched  for  the  gov 
ernment  harvesters  as  Sister  Anne  watched  from  Blue 
Beard's  tower,  and  while  they  waited,  dragged  old  dis 
carded  reapers  from  their  barns,  oiled  them  in  desperate 
haste  and  set  out  to  save  a  few  acres  of  their  crops.  The 
Agricultural  recruits  worked  night  and  day  —  in  four 
shifts  now,  for  the  moon  was  full.  Extra  units  and  ex 
tra  tractors  were  rushed  from  regions  that  could  wait,  to 
this  which  was  threatened.  The  smell  of  gasoline  from 
an  approaching  tractor  was  sweeter  on  the  wind  than  any 
breath  of  spring.  The  forces  of  the  whole  Service  were 
focused  here  to  save  the  wheat.  No  submarine  prowling 
beneath  a  provision  laden  ocean  could  create  such  poten 
tial  hunger  as  the  drought  did  hour  by  hour.  And  the 
heat  grew! 

The  sun  and  the  flying  dust  burned  even  the  most 
seasoned  skin  to  brick  red. 

"  Say,  honest,  if  I  had  to  sit  on  the  back  of  my  neck, 

169 


170  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

I'd  stand  up  all  night,  so  sore  it  is,"  said  Mamie  Epstein, 
smoothing  a  layer  of  cocoa  butter  over  all  visible  parts 
of  herself. 

"Mildred,  you're  peeling  again  all  across  your  nose! 
Why  didn't  you  put  magnesium  on  your  face  before  you 
started?  If  it  doesn't  blow  off,  or  sweat  off,  or  rub  off, 
it's  some  protection." 

Ruth  Ansel,  shining  under  layers  of  cold  cream,  stud 
ied  Mildred  critically. 

"  It  isn't  that  it  looks  bad  to  be  burned  like  that  —  but 
it  hurts!  I  hate  to  lie  awake  all  night  wishing  I'd  never 
had  a  skin." 

"  I  believe  that  my  eyelids  are  so  burned  that  they're 
swelling  —  can  you  tell,  Ruth?"  Mildred  thrust  a  well- 
greased  face  toward  her. 

"I  should  say  they  were!     Don't  they  feel  funny?" 

Only  Winkles  took  no  discomfort  from  the  sun.  Ac 
climated  to  heat  since  before  Asshur-Bani-pal  sat  his 
throne,  before  the  temple  of  Bel  rose  by  the  Tigris,  the 
skin  of  her  race  turned  the  sun  aside  like  armor.  She 
watched  the  other  girls  in  wonder. 

"  A  little  sun,  some  wind  —  and  all  this !  " 

"  Well,  I  heard  a  man  to-day  tell  Mr.  Fox  while  we 
were  lunching  on  his  veranda  that  it  was  lovely  cyclone 
weather  —  do  you  think  he  meant  there  really  might  be 
one?" 

"  What  is  '  cyclone'  ?  "  inquired  Winkles. 

The  girls  had  grown  used  to  letting  Mamie  Epstein 
answer  all  questions  —  not  because  she  always  knew,  but 
because  she  had  a  willing  mind.  But  in  the  matter  of 
"  cyclone  "  she  failed  them  by  being  ostentatiously  occu 
pied  in  rubbing  in  cocoa  butter  and  pretending  not  to 
hear. 

"  It's  wind,"  said  Ruth  with  a  slow  accuracy,  "  a  great 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  171 

deal  of  wind  all  at  once.  It  tears  up  trees  and  blows 
down  houses  and  it  goes  round  and  round." 

"  Oh,  Ruth,  I  think  it's  a  hurricane  that  does  that  —  I 
think  a  cyclone  goes  straight  ahead !  " 

They  discussed  it  back  and  forth,  while  Mamie  Epstein 
covertly  drank  in  every  word,  the  while  slowly  rubbing  in 
cream. 

"  Cyclone  cellars,  a  fellow  in  Kirksville  said  those  holes 
with  doors  by  the  schoolhouse,  were,"  Mamie  contrib 
uted  at  last. 

"  And  in  the  churchyards  too  —  don't  you  remember?" 
said  Mildred. 

The  next  day  opened  with  the  same  dry  wind  from  the 
southwest,  —  a  deadly  insistent  wind  whispering  into  the 
ears  of  the  farmers : 

"  What  I  didn't  do  yesterday,  I'll  do  today !  Do  to 
day  —  do  today !  " 

A  horrible  recitative ! 

The  Unit  had  finished  one  district  and  was  being  rushed 
to  the  next  which  they  hoped  to  reach  by  afternoon. 

As  the  bus  mounted  a  little  hill,  a  small  biplane  circled 
low  and  made  a  landing  in  the  road  ahead.  There  was 
a  great  cheering  and  a  group  of  Service  boys  went  whoop 
ing  toward  it.  The  officer  in  charge  set  them  to  push  the 
machine  out  of  the  way  of  the  bus  and  the  boy  who 
worked  hardest  at  it  was  Arthur  Wintermute !  Arthur, 
without  his  tutor  or  his  valet,  pushing  and  tugging  just 
like  anybody  else  —  Arthur  carrying  his  shoulders  with 
some  regard  to  where  shoulders  ought  to  be!  He  ex 
plained  to  Mildred  that  it  was  an  aviation  training  corps. 

"  They  haven't  let  me  go  up  alone  yet,  but  I'm  going 
today  and  if  I  can  qualify,  I'm  going  to  join  the  regular 
flying  corps  in  Texas  when  my  year  is  through.  Just 
think  of  being  a  flyer  for  the  United  States !  " 


172  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

So  even  Arthur  Wintermute  could  develop  ambition 
when  real  work  was  forced  upon  him! 

It  did  change  people  —  work  did.  What  had  it  done 
to  Nick?  And  as  though  Arthur  divined  what  was  in 
her  mind : 

"  Edith  writes  me  that  Nick's  been  sent  to  the  moun 
tains  to  make  roads  to  some  new  copper  mines  the  gov 
ernment's  opening  up.  She  said  he's  awfully  keen  about 
it  —  likes  working  and  everything !  —  he  must  be  a  lot 
different  —  only  I'd  rather  fly." 

Mildred  was  a  little  hurt  that  news  about  Nick  must 
come  to  her  so  indirectly.  Of  course  she  hadn't  written 
very  often  —  but  then  Nick  must  know  how  busy  she  was 
with  the  harvest.  And  besides,  she  resented  the  idea  of 
Nick's  being  different  —  she  wanted  him  to  stay  just  the 
same.  But  she  didn't  believe  it  anyway  —  How  should 
Edith  Wintermute  know  ?  Why  hadn't  Nick  chosen  avi 
ation  instead  of  roadmaking?  It  would  have  been  so 
much  more  suitable  and  he'd  have  had  a  better  time. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  wait  and  see  you  go  up!  "  Mil 
dred  called  back  to  Arthur  as  the  bus  started  on  again. 

The  regiment  to  which  the  flying  corps  belonged  was 
stationed  in  the  next  hollow.  They  were  quite  raw  re 
cruits.  Later  they  would  be  sent  away  to  the  borders  or 
the  coast  defenses,  or  perhaps  to  the  training  ships. 
Those  who  made  superlative  records  were  given  a  chance 
to  enter  West  Point,  so  that  the  officers  of  our  ever- 
changing  citizen  army  won  their  positions  through  sheer 
ability. 

An  hour  later  they  had  reached  their  new  barracks  and 
the  afternoon  shift  was  ready  to  start  for  the  fields  when 
Ruth  called  to  Quartermaster  Farrington : 

"  What  makes  the  sky  so  queer?  " 

They  all  looked  up.     The  air  was  frightfully  hot  and 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  173 

absolutely  still  as  though  a  tight  cap  had  been  pinned  over 
the  edges  of  the  world.  The  blue  in  the  sky  was  gone. 
From  millions  of  miles  outside  the  earth  the  rays  of  the 
sun  seemed  to  have  changed  color  as  by  the  hand  of  a 
conjurer. 

"Honest,  it  looks  like  the  wheat  was  turning  green! 
Understand  me,  not  like  again  it  was  young,  but  like  it 
was  sick.  It's  got  me  scared,  all  right." 

They  huddled  about  the  bus  watching  the  cold  green 
light  growing  in  the  hot,  still  air.  And  then  along  the 
road  they  had  come,  rose  a  low,  black  wave ;  flat  as  a  wall 
of  paint,  sharp  and  straight  as  a  knife  blade  where  it  met 
the  blighted  sky.  It  hugged  the  ground  as  it  swept 
silently  toward  them  —  hugged  it  close  like  a  blanket  that 
Earth  was  pulling  over  her  parched  knees. 

Suddenly  Annie  McGee  shrilled  high : 

"  The  Cyclone !  The  Cyclone !  "  and  rushed  for  the 
door  with  the  rest  tumbling  after. 

They  crowded  chattering  and  sobbing  against  the  win 
dows,  Annie  crossing  herself  desperately.  They  saw  the 
distant  grain  flattening  as  under  the  laundress'  iron  and 
then  the  dark  wave  came  and  struck  the  end  of  the  build 
ing  like  the  solid  impact  of  a  river  in  flood.  The  walls 
bent,  —  recovered,  —  there  was  a  spatter  of  rain,  —  and 
the  thing  was  gone ! 

But  Mildred  tore  open  the  door  and  dragging  Winkles 
by  the  arm,  ran  through  the  cold  wind  toward  the  bus,  for 
she  had  seen  a  great  struggling  thing,  fighting  like  a  giant 
eagle,  go  down  the  wind. 

"  Quick,  Winkles,  quick !  —  we  must  catch  it  —  there 
was  some  one  in  it  —  I  saw  —  that  is,  I  think  there  was 
—  Quick!" 

They  got  the  bus  started  and  turned  after  the  cyclone. 
Only  the  finger  tips  of  it  had  brushed  them  but  they  could 


174  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

see  the  great  black  formless  mass  going  on  ahead.  The 
road  led  in  the  general  direction  it  had  taken,  and  they 
crowded  on  every  bit  of  speed  the  lumbering  machine 
could  carry  and  followed  after.  There  was  real  green 
to  be  seen  now  even  if  the  wheat  lay  tangled  and  flat  — 
real  green  and  the  sunlight  dancing  over  it.  The  world 
smiled  a  little  wet,  sheepish,  smile  as  though  willing  to 
make  up  for  its  fit  of  temper.  But  Mildred  and  Winkles 
pushed  the  bus  on,  peering  right  and  left  over  the  country 
on  the  chance.  Here  they  saw  the  tops  of  trees  capri 
ciously  picked  off  as  a  child  pulls  the  head  off  a  daisy  — 
here  was  a  house  disroofed  —  over  by  the  railroad  station 
a  great  gray  corrugated  iron  grain  elevator  had  been 
resolved  into  its  component  plates,  as  neatly  as  if  by  men 
trained  to  the  job.  It  was  a  hopeless  chase  of  course  — 
there  wasn't  a  chance  of  their  finding  the  aeroplane  — 
only  they  did ! 

Not  more  than  two  miles  away  it  lay  in  the  corner  of  a 
field,  a  mere  pile  of  unrelated  odds  and  ends  of  steel  and 
canvas  and  wood  —  and,  fallen  clear  of  the  wreckage, 
Arthur  Wintermute  lay  upon  his  face. 

They  turned  him  over  with  trembling,  unskilled  hands. 
They  thought  he  was  breathing,  but  they  didn't  quite 
know  —  they  thought  his  heart  beat,  but  they  couldn't 
make  sure. 

"  I  can  run  faster  than  you,  Winkles,"  gasped  Mildred 
and  started  for  a  house  just  in  view  across  the  field. 

The  farmer's  family  that  came  trailing  her  back  found 
Winkles  with  part  of  one  of  the  wrecked  wings  pulled 
loose  and  ready  to  be  used  as  a  stretcher. 

"  I  don't  think  he's  dead,"  said  the  farmer's  wife,  "  but 
I  wouldn't  undertake  to  say  for  sure.  Lift  him  gentle, 
William,  I'll  take  his  feet  —  now  you  girls  slide  that 
thing  under  him  while  he's  up  —  there,  that's  it.  Wil- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  175 

Ham,  you  take  that  end  —  if  you  face  the  other  way  you 
can  hold  on  better.  Here,  Lyman,  catch  hold  right  here. 
I'll  run  ahead  and  get  a  place  ready  and  some  hot  water, 
— oh,  and  the  doctor!  " 

"  Where  will  I  find  him?  "  asked  Mildred  quickly. 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  rightly  say  —  if  the  wires  ain't  down 
we  can  use  the  telephone  —  we'd  better  try  that  anyway." 

Mildred  walked  beside  Arthur  as  they  carried  him  up. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  though  he  were  trying  to  raise  his  eye 
lids  and  she  patted  his  hand  and  spoke  to  him : 

"  Arthur  —  Arthur  Wintermute  —  don't  you  hear 
me?  It's  Mildred  —  can  you  hear  me?  It's  Mildred 
Carver."  And  all  the  time  thinking  how  she  had  just 
been  wishing  Nick  was  in  the  aviation  and  being  more 
tender  of  Arthur  in  gratitude  that  he  wasn't  Nick. 

"  I  don't  get  any  answer  on  the  telephone  —  I  guess 
some  of  you'll  have  to  hitch  up  and  go  for  the  doctor," 
said  the  farmer's  wife.  And  then  it  was  seen  that 
Winkles  was  driving  the  bus  up  to  the  door.  They  went 
for  the  doctor  in  the  bus,  found  him  and  brought  him 
back  and  waited  in  agonized  silence  till  he  had  made  his 
examination. 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell  just  what  the  damage  is  —  he  seems 
to  be  hurt  pretty  bad  but  it's  mostly  inside.  There's  some 
ribs  fractured,  of  course  —  but  it  don't  seem  likely  —  " 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  possible  to  have  a  consultation  or 
something  if  it's  as  bad  as  that?  Isn't  there  a  hospital? 
Can't  we  send  for  somebody?  " 

The  country  doctor  looked  at  Mildred  in  slow  sur 
prise. 

"  Well,  there  isn't  much  of  anybody  near  that  you 
could  get  hold  of  —  Not  that  I  wouldn't  be  willing  to  call 
in  a  consultant,  of  course  —  it's  a  difficult  case  and  if  the 
Mayos  —  " 


176  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Who  are  they?  " 

"Oh,  way  up  in  Wisconsin  —  that's  a  long  way  — 

"  I'll  wire  anyway,"  and  Mildred,  leaving  Winkles  to 
help  the  doctor  and  the  farmer's  wife,  started  the  bus 
again  for  the  little  railroad  station  she  had  seen  near  the 
wrecked  grain  elevator. 

The  wires  were  down!  She  got  the  name  and  direc 
tion  of  the  nearest  town  to  the  east  which  would  probably 
be  out  of  the  path  of  the  cyclone  and  made  for  that.  She 
preempted  the  wires  with  a  young  imperiousness,  the  con 
sciousness  of  unlimited  money  power,  and  the  cachet  of 
her  Service  uniform  —  got  her  father  in  New  York  on 
the  telephone  and  told  him  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Winter- 
mute,  and  also  his  promise  of  a  special  train  \vith  the  best 
surgeon  he  could  find  in  New  York,  also  the  promise  of  a 
wire  to  the  Mayos  and  to  some  one  in  Chicago  or  nearer 
if  he  could  get  them. 

It  didn't  occur  to  Mildred  that  the  Unit  Quartermaster 
must  be  in  some  perturbation  as  to  what  had  become  of 
them,  so  she  drove  the  bus  back  to  the  farmhouse  and 
took  her  place  with  Winkles  as  the  doctor's  aide.  But 
some  time  during  the  night  an  anxious  Alice  Farrington 
in  a  commandeered  Ford  appeared  at  the  farmhouse  and 
took  her  place  with  the  watching  girls. 

Arthur  was  breathing  now  —  harsh,  heavy  and  slow 
—  but  his  eyes  were  closed  and  he  lay  inert.  A  message 
came  before  dawn  that  Mrs.  Wintermute  had  left  New 
York  and  that  doctors  from  Chicago  were  on  their  way. 
The  night  wore  on  and  all  the  next  day  —  Arthur  lay 
with  his  chest  rising  and  falling.  An  hour  before  the 
train  with  the  doctors  got  in,  his  chest  went  curiously  flat. 

The  tragedy  made  a  profound  impression  on  the  busy, 
happy  little  Agricultural  Unit  because  of  the  sheer  per 
sonal  horror  of  it  all.  But  in  Mildred  it  bred  the  feeling 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  177 

of  being  very  small  and  very  helpless  and  very  much 
alone!  The  blessed  security  of  her  childhood  seemed 
shattered  —  all  the  years  when  terrible  things  happened 
only  in  books  or  in  newspapers  or  in  places  that  were  very 
far  away  indeed,  were  blotted  out,  and  death  and  horror 
had  touched  her.  Fear,  from  which  she  had  been 
guarded  all  her  life,  had  put  its  finger  on  her.  If  she 
could  only  get  back  to  the  place  where  somebody  or  some 
thing  stood  between  her  and  dread !  She  longed  for  her 
own  home,  her  own  people.  She  wanted  to  be  protected 
and  taken  care  of.  She  was  suddenly  homesick  and 
frightened  and  alone. 

And  all  the  while  the  Earth  smiled  its  little  wet,  green, 
deprecatory  smile  as  though  the  wheat  that  lay  tangled 
and  flat  were  not  the  life  of  the  people;  as  though  Arthur 
Wintermute  were  still  to  make  his  first  flight  in  the  gov 
ernment  service. 

But  they  were  quickly  shifted  out  of  the  devastated 
region,  and  sent  back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  following 
the  harvest  trail  northward  as  the  crops  ripened,  for  the 
wheat  must  be  reaped  to  the  last  field,  and  they  ended  with 
a  final  rush  of  all  the  force  that  the  government  could 
muster  at  the  northern  border. 

And  there  was  the  fall  plowing  for  the  winter  wheat 
and  the  seeding  —  but  not  much  of  that  for  the  recruits 
who  had  been  called  three  months  after  Mildred  were  now 
experienced  workers,  and  took  the  brunt  of  the  fall  plant 
ing. 

The  Forty-second  Unit  took  its  turn  helping  with  the 
thrashing  and  loading  of  the  wheat  harvest,  until  the 
black  frost  came  and  their  year  was  done. 


N 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ONLY  when  our  ideals  are  made  flesh  and  come 
among  us  do  they  bring  crucifixions.     So  long 
as  democracy  remains  embalmed  in  the  Decla 
ration  of  Independence  and  the  Constitution,  can  we  not 
buy  and  sell  as  we  choose  ?     Gather  our  gains  into  banks 
and  build  high  walls  of  privilege  about  ourselves?     But 
the  materialization  of  Democracy  is  no  painless  process. 

Frank  and  Mary  Carver  waiting  in  the  Grand  Central 
Station  to  receive  their  daughter,  found  themselves  part 
of  the  same  crowd  they  had  been  in  a  year  ago.  If  there 
were  a  few  more  hats  where  shawls  had  been  before,  —  if 
increasing  prosperity  had  brought  more  cleanliness  and  a 
look  of  better  feeding,  they  did  not  notice  it.  For  be 
tween  these  other  parents  and  the  Carvers,  direct  personal 
relation  —  the  sacred  rites  of  eating  together,  of  inter 
marriage,  of  playing  the  same  games,  discussing  the  same 
people  —  simply  did  not  exist.  There  was  a  chasm  be 
tween  them  much  greater  than  mere  race  could  dig.  The 
Jewish  and  Italian  and  Greek  parents  had  much  in  com 
mon  with  the  Americans  and  Irish  from  Harlem  and  the 
Bronx;  all  the  basic  problems  of  food  and  housing,  of 
bringing  up  their  children  and  providing  for  their  old 
age,  were  theirs  together.  For  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carver 
these  problems  had  vanished  through  the  possession  of 
much  money  for  many  generations.  In  all  that  waiting 
group  the  experience  of  real  democracy  was  as  foreign 
as  reincarnation.  But  these  returning  boys  and  girls  had 

178 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  179 

gone  centuries  ahead  of  their  parents  in  a  single  year  for 
they  had  been  part  of  the  world's  first  experiment  in  in 
dustrial  democracy. 

They  came  fairly  tumbling  now  from  the  steps  of  the 
tourist  sleepers,  their  ruck-sacks  in  their  hands,  their 
thick  boots  thumping  firmly  on  the  platform,  their  shoul 
ders  set  square.  Being  city-born  and  bred,  they  had 
been  given  their  Service  year  in  the  country.  The  first 
four  cars  were  filled  with  boys.  There  was  a  sudden 
hush  in  the  waiting  crowd  as  they  formed  in  double  lines 
— took  the 

"  LEFT,  LEFT,  LEFT/'  from  the  captain  and  came 
marching  up  the  steps  —  brown,  hardy,  young  men  of 
nineteen. 

The  iron  gates  slid  open  and  the  parents  pressed  against 
the  restraining  ropes  that  made  a  clear  aisle  to  the  far  end 
of  the  depot.  The  lads  came  through  grinning  and  there 
began  to  be  cries  of  recognition. 

"  There's  Eddie !  —  there,  next  that  tall  fellow  on  the 
other  side.  Oh,  Eddie  —  say  Ed !  —  Ed !  Hi !  —  poke 
him,  mister,  will  yer?  " 

"  Oh,  Abe !  —  Honest,  Mamma,  ain't  that  him  coming 
along?  —  Say,  is  it  your  own  son  you  don't  know?  " 

"  Now,  my  dear,  don't  cry  so  just  because  William  is 
here.  How  the  boy  will  feel  to  see  his  mother  in  tears !  — 
No,  I'm  not  crying  myself !  —  You're  quite  mistaken. 
I'm  only  a  little  hoarse !  There  he  is !  I  see  him  —  I 
see  him !  Look,  Annette !  Look  —  No  —  further  down 
—  that  way !  No,  I  did  not  pinch  you  either !  Nonsense 
-  you're  just  excited.  Try  and  keep  calm !  Willie  — 
Willie  — Willie!" 

It  was  a  roar  as  of  the  Chicago  wheat  pit  that  rose  when 
the  boys  turned  into  the  waiting  crowd  —  for  here  were 
people  whose  emotion  roused  the  full  force  of  their  lungs; 


180  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

people  who  could  only  be  glad  when  slapping  each  other 
on  the  back ;  people  who  cried  and  laughed  together,  and 
that  forcibly;  a  group  which  manifested  its  feelings  ob 
viously,  audibly  and  through  the  body  almost  as  naively 
as  a  herd  of  deer.  The  boys  were  all  conquering  heroes 
even  if  they  had  done  nothing  but  paste  labels  on  bundles 
in  a  Government  Express  office,  and  the  crowd  absorbed 
them  joyously,  not  realizing  what  potent  yeast  they  were 
to  the  old  order. 

The  boys  had  all  passed  before  the  girls  came  through 
the  gates.  Short  and  tall,  fat  and  thin,  they  were  drawn 
into  likeness  by  their  tanned  faces  and  their  uniforms. 
Their  questioning  eyes  glanced  left  and  right.  Out  of 
the  democracy  of  their  Service  year  they  were  met  again 
with  all  the  differences  that  social  stratification  implies. 
It  came  as  a  blow  mixed  with  the  joy  of  homecoming  — 
they  winced  and  were  happy  at  once.  With  what  pain 
and  what  sinkings  of  the  heart  did  some  of  them  again 
feel  the  parental  arms ! 

Mrs.  Carver  didn't  recognize  Mildred  at  first  with  her 
brown  skin  and  a  strip  of  adhesive  plaster  over  one  eye 
brow.  And  even  when  she  had  discovered  her,  and  felt 
her  strong  young  arms  about  her,  and  had  lifted  her 
shoulders  away  from  the  pressing  people  and  taken  a 
step  toward  the  door,  her  daughter  slipped  away  from  her 
again.  Mildred  ran  over  to  a  black-browed  girl,  the  center 
of  an  obviously  non-English-speaking  group  whom  Mrs. 
Carver  inferred  from  their  appearance  were  engaged  in 
the  business  of  conducting  fruit  stands;  and  then  she 
stopped  by  a  girl  crying  joyously  in  the  arms  of  her  po 
liceman  father;  and  then  she  was  swept  into  a  group  of 
boys  who  laughed  and  wrung  her  hands  and  reminded  her 
that  they  were  all  going  to  Coney  Island  next  Saturday 
and  one  got  her  promise  for  the  first  ride  in  the  scenic 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  181 

railway,  and  another  begged  her  to  chute  the  chutes  with 
him.  And  until  the  crowd  finally  disintegrated  and 
drained  away  to  surface  cars,  and  elevated,  and  subway, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carver  had  to  stand  and  wait. 

"Who  was  the  short,  dark  girl  you  spoke  to?"  Mrs. 
Carver  inquired  when  they  had  settled  into  the  motor. 

"  She's  one  of  the  two  best  tractor  drivers  in  our  Unit. 
Her  name's  Winkles  and  she  came  from  a  place  you  can't 
pronounce  in  Syria.  We  never  could  tell  whether  it  was 
Winkles  or  Jimmie  Cabot  of  Boston  who  got  the  most 
acres  out  of  a  gallon  of  gasoline.  Isn't  she  a  dear?  " 

"What  happened  to  your  forehead?"  Mrs.  Carver 
countered  with  quick  tactfulness. 

"  Oh,  that  was  two  weeks  ago.  I  ran  into  a  rock,  the 
reaper  broke  a  blade  and  a  belt  flew  off  and  hit  me  in  the 
face.  I  never  even  saw  the  rock,  and  if  I  had  I  wouldn't 
have  thought  so  small  a  rock  would  have  made  so  big  a 
jolt." 

"  Well,  dear,  I  imagine  you  are  as  glad  to  get  back  as 
we  are  to  have  you.  It  must  have  been  a  terrible  year  — 
thank  God  it's  over!  " 

"  Why,  Mother !     It  was  wonderful !  " 

"Wonderful!" 

"  I'm  glad  to  be  back  because  I  wanted  so  awfully  to 
see  you  and  Ruthie  and  Junior  —  and  I  wish  I  could  do  it 
again." 

"Oh,  my  dear!" 

The  cry  seemed  forced  from  Mrs.  Carver  and  she  tried 
to  cover  it  with  a  cough,  but  it  had  sounded  nevertheless, 
and  the  girl  set  her  face  as  the  motor  drew  up  at  the  door. 

Mildred  had  looked  for  Nick  in  the  crowd  at  the  sta 
tion  —  looked  with  a  curious  combination  of  eagerness 
and  dread  which  she  didn't  understand.  She  hadn't 
heard  from  him  for  several  weeks  and  wasn't  quite  cer- 


182  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

tain  where  his  last  station  was,  but  she  had  taken  it  for 
granted  that  he  would  be  home  to  meet  her.  Well,  prob 
ably  he  had  decided  to  meet  her  at  the  house.  She  knew 
that  some  of  the  family  would  be  there  to  welcome  her  — 
it  was  the  Carver  custom.  Other  and  newer  people 
might  permit  indifference,  but  the  Carvers  were  a  closed 
corporation  inside  which  a  strong  family  affection  was 
deliberately  fostered.  But  Nick  did  not  run  down  the 
white  stone  steps  to  greet  her  —  only  Ruth  and  Junior 
came  to  hug  her  hilariously.  And  then  she  became  con 
scious  of  the  family  phalanx  inside  the  door.  So  still  it 
seemed  to  her  after  the  unrestrained  emotion  in  the  de 
pot;  so  immobile,  so  subdued!  And,  yet,  she  knew  they 
would  not  be  here  if  they  were  not  glad  to  see  her,  quite 
as  glad  as  Mamie  Epstein's  cousin's  husband  who  had 
lifted  her  from  the  floor  and  kissed  her  loudly  on  both 
cheeks. 

Mildred  saw  the  family  group  with  new  eyes.  The 
women  were  just  as  delicately  perfect,  the  men  were  just 
as  straight  and  honorably  clear-eyed;  the  cadence  of  their 
low  voices  was  just  as  beautifully  restful;  their  clothes 
were  just  as  harmoniously  superior  to  fashion;  their  ways 
just  as  kindly  and  considerate  —  they  had  in  no  way 
changed.  But  Mildred  felt  like  a  sailor  suddenly  set  in 
a  windless  harbor  after  rounding  the  cape  in  a  spanking 
breeze  —  there  seemed  nothing  further  to  do  about  any 
thing.  She  looked  about  furtively  for  Nick  —  but  evi 
dently  he  hadn't  come,  and  then  the  family  flood  closed 
over  her.  Dutifully  she  kissed  Aunt  Millicent's  soft  old 
cheek. 

"  It  is  a  great  sacrifice  to  give  a  year  of  your  life  and  I 
hope  the  government  appreciated  it!  "  said  that  lady  with 
considerable  condescension  toward  the  world  in  general 
and  the  government  in  particular. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  183 

"  Tell  me  —  what  did  you  talk  with  them  about?  " 

This  from  a  tall,  shimmering  sort  of  a  cousin  addicted 
to  sparkling  black  clothes  and  educated  in  France ! 

"Why,  we  talked  about  everything,  Alice  —  every 
thing  there  is  to  talk  about,  I  guess." 

"  Who  took  care  of  your  clothes?  "  asked  pretty  Anne 
Weston. 

Mildred  twinkled  into  a  laugh. 

"  We  were  supposed  to  do  it  for  ourselves,  Anne,  but 
if  you  really  want  me  to  confess,  I'll  have  to  say  that 
Mamie  Epstein  did  mine  most  of  the  time." 

"  Mamie  Epstein  —  who  is  she?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  one  of  the  girls  in  our  Unit  that  I  like  a 
lot  —  she  can  sew.  Everybody  in  her  family  makes 
clothes  —  her  father  and  everybody." 

"Oh  —  one  of  those  garment  workers!" 

"  Yes,  Anne." 

"  She  was  probably  glad  to  earn  the  money !  " 

"What  money?" 

"  That  you  paid  her  for  taking  care  of  your  clothes." 

"  Oh,  Anne !  I  didn't  pay  her  to  do  it !  She's  my 
friend!  She  did  it  for  me  because  she  saw  I  didn't  know 
how.  There  wasn't  a  thing  I  could  do  for  her  except 
fill  the  oil  cups  sometimes." 

Their  soft  voices  kept  up  the  gentlest  fire  of  the  most 
unanswerable  questions ! 

"  Wasn't  it  hard  to  sleep  in  the  room  with  other 
people?  " 

"  Did  you  find  that  the  rectors  of  the  country  churches 
took  a  real  interest  in  the  young  people?  " 

"How  could  you  get  on  with  uneducated  persons?" 

"  It  was  probably  a  real  privilege  for  the  other  girls  to 
know  you  —  you  could  help  them  in  so  many  ways !  " 

Mildred  was  entirely  out  of  countenance.     Had  she 


184  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

got  so  far  away  from  them  in  a  year  ?  Hadn't  they  any 
idea  what  it  had  all  been  about  ?  That  it  meant  anything 
more  than  a  visit  to  the  seashore?  A  shopping  trip  to 
buy  gloves  ?  How  dull  was  this  talk  of  her  lovely  kins 
women  who  acted  as  though  everything  must  stay  the 
same  always!  How  much  duller  than  the  talk  of  Mamie 
and  Winkles  and  Ruth! 

Her  mind  went  back  to  those  long,  rainy  days  in  Mis 
souri  when  they  had  to  wait  for  the  ground  to  dry  before 
they  could  go  on  with  the  plowing  —  days  when  a  flat, 
gray  sky  almost  rested  on  a  flat  gray  earth  with  only  the 
thin  gray  fingers  of  the  rain  to  keep  them  apart,  —  and 
they  had  thrashed  out  the  philosophy  of  the  ages  in  little, 
and  plotted  out  their  future  in  the  light  of  it,  —  Ellen 
Forsythe,  and  the  right  of  everybody  to  do  as  they  chose; 
Ruth,  and  her  predilection  for  a  universe  ordered  like  a 
model  factory;  Winkles  with  her  baffling  belief  that  ev 
erything  was  all  right  anyway  —  except  in  Syria. 

This  talk  of  girls!  It  has  the  perpetual  freshness  of 
successive  springs  in  that  it  always  paints  the  future. 
Back  a  few  thousand  years  and  their  future  was  the  man 
who  would  take  them  and  if  there  would  be  food  enough, 
and  not  too  many  beatings.  And  then  the  centuries 
drifting  by  and  the  girls  find  themselves  property  and  the 
talk  is  of  accomplishments  they  must  acquire  to  enhance 
the  price.  Ages  later  and  the  first  talk  of  rights  to  come, 
rights  in  their  own  bodies  primarily  and  then  in  the  own 
ership  of  their  children  and  the  spending  of  their  money. 
Another  gap,  and  the  talk  throws  ahead  to  the  desire  to 
know,  and  the  future  has  something  in  it  besides  love 
and  maternity.  And  then  the  schools  and  colleges  taken 
as  much  for  granted  as  marriage  and  a  home,  and  the 
professions  beckoning.  And  then,  Politics  and  Work  to- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  185 

gether,  and  these  girls  of  the  Universal  Service  picking 
futures  for  themselves  out  of  all  that  civilization  offers 
anybody. 

Mildred  came  back  to  the  immediate  present  with  a 
start. 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Millicent,  we  wore  our  uniforms  all  the 
time.  We  didn't  dress  for  dinner,  except  to  put  on  clean 
waists  and  do  our  hair,"  she  said  faintly. 

It  all  seemed  so  still;  the  thick  rugs  swallowed  the 
sound,  and  the  thick  curtains,  and  the  rich  dresses  —  the 
mechanics  of  living  were  smooth  running  and  oiled  to  the 
last  joint.  She  felt  that  life  was  picking  her  up  to  set 
her  securely  in  the  middle  of  a  satin-covered  cushion  of 
down  —  and  that  she  would  be  very  small  indeed  and 
very  helpless  when  she  got  there.  And  then  she  felt  a 
strong  hand  clapped  firmly  on  her  shoulder,  and  spun 
round  under  it  to  meet  the  pleasant  eyes  of  Winthrop. 

"Hullo,  Citizen  Carver!"  he  said  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

Mildred  pressed  both  her  brown  hands  tight  around  his 
and  her  eyes  filled  and  her  throat  shut  as  she  tried  to 
answer.  Winthrop  threw  a  friendly  arm  across  her 
shoulders,  and  drew  her  out  into  the  hall  just  in  time  to 
meet  Andrew  Carver  coming  in.  The  old  man  kissed 
her  lightly  and  set  his  glasses  on  his  nose,  the  better  to 
take  her  in.  He  had  clearly  in  his  mind  the  picture  of 
the  girl  at  the  top  of  the  long  stairs  —  with  her  little, 
square  chin  and  her  baby  mouth  and  her  surprised,  long, 
blue  glance  —  that  and  the  pretty  brown  boot  vanishing 
into  the  motor.  And  now  he  looked  square  into  direct 
fearless,  blue  eyes  —  eyes  no  more  timid  or  hesitant  than 
those  of  Winthrop,  who  still  stood  with  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  the  lips  were  just  as  full  and  red,  but  indefinably 


186  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

firmer,  and  the  square  shoulders  were  held  low  and  far 
back  and  the  brown  neck  rose  not  like  a  flower  stem  but 
like  the  straight  bole  of  a  tree.  Old  Andrew,  looking  at 
her  speculatively,  saw  as  he  had  seen  before,  the  lady  of 
breeding  and  character,  the  lady  of  position  and  beauty 
and  charm,  but  he  was  conscious  of  something  more  — 
exactly  what,  he  didn't  know.  He  thought  again  of 
those  other  women  he  had  known  —  women  quite  outside 
the  clan  of  Carver  —  oh,  very  much  outside,  indeed.  He 
had  always  taken  it  for  granted  that  their  charm  came 
from  experience  that  was  unthinkable  in  his  family.  And 
yet,  here  was  this  niece  of  his  —  straight,  clean,  fine,  — 
but  with  the  same  subtle  charm  of  wider  experience.  Old 
Andrew  was  a  connoisseur  in  women  and  he  knew  charm 
when  he  saw  it. 

"  Come  back  into  the  library  —  you  and  Winthrop  — 
and  tell  me  all  about  it !  " 

There  was  a  gentle  wood-fire,  the  faint  perfume  of 
which  mingled  with  the  scent  of  a  plant  hung  thick  with 
blue  bell-like  blossoms.  Old  Andrew  picked  out  a  straight 
youthful  chair  and  the  two  cousins  lounged  on  the  big 
Davenport  before  the  fire. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  to  have  hurt  you  any,  my  dear." 

Old  Andrew  looked  her  over  carefully  again  from  the 
patch  above  her  eyebrow  to  her  worn  brown  boots. 

"  No,  decidedly  not.  Quite  —  quite  the  contrary,  in 
fact." 

Winthrop  laughed  aloud. 

"  Haven't  I  said,  ever  since  the  war,  that  work  would 
be  the  making  of  us  all !  " 

The  old  man  turned  on  him  sharply. 

"  Nephew  —  our  family  is  made  already  —  it  was 
made  a  good  while  before  you  were  born.  And  as  for 
what  work  would  do  to  our  girls  —  neither  you  nor  any- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  187 

body  else  could  tell  till  it  had  been  tried.  Mildred  is  our 
Government  Experiment  station." 

Winthrop  laughed  again;  all  the  younger  generation 
loved  the  old  man  for  a  certain  carefree  posture  of  the 
mind  as  natural  to  him  as  his  accent. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Uncle  Andrew.  I  didn't  mean  to 
find  fault  with  the  family  —  it's  the  finest  I  know  and  the 
only  one  I've  got,  anyway.  I  only  meant  to  say  that 
work's  good  for  everybody  —  you  lose  something  out  of 
life  if  you  don't  get  it." 

"  And  you  lose  a  lot  out  of  life  if  you  don't  get  leisure, 
—more,  I  think.  But,  that's  out  of  our  hands  now.  The 
new  things  the  government  concerns  itself  with  — it's  no 
less  than  Socialism." 

He  paused,  eyeing  the  toe  of  his  dapper  shoe  appreci 
atively  and  only  looked  up  when  Winthrop  asked  Mil 
dred  : 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  Quartermaster?  " 

Then  they  plunged  into  talk  of  the  technical  organi 
zation  of  the  Service  and  the  Army  —  a  comparison  and 
contrast  and  sifting  and  sorting  of  their  experiences,  and 
the  girl  found  herself  and  her  work  taken  seriously,  not 
as  a  thing  to  be  recovered  from  and  forgotten  and  ig 
nored;  not  as  a  mere  adventure  or  a  lark;  but  as  an  im 
portant  part  of  her  life,  and  a  serious  concern  to  every 
body  else.  So  Mildred's  bruised  sensibilities  were  soothed 
by  these  two  kinsmen,  who,  even  if  they  were  Carvers, 
had  had  a  sufficiently  wide  experience  to  rate  her  wonder 
ful  year  at  its  full  value,  and  she  grew  calm  enough  to  go 
back  to  the  drawingroom.  But  just  as  she  was  inside  the 
door: 

"  My  dear,"  whispered  Mrs.  Carver's  sister,  "what  has 
happened  to  Mildred's  hands?  Look  at  those  broken 
nails  and  the  calluses  on  her  fingers !  " 


188  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,  Emma.  I'm  fairly  overwhelmed 
by  the  things  that  must  be  taken  up.  The  sunburn  will 
go,  of  course,  but  suppose  there's  a  scar  on  her  forehead  ?" 

"When  is  Mary  going  to  bring  her  out?"  Mildred 
overheard  a  stately  cousin  inquire.  "  I  want  to  give 
something  for  her  before  the  season  gets  under  way." 

"  I  imagine  that  isn't  important.     You  know  young 
Van  Arsdale  isn't  back  yet  and  somebody  intimated  — 
Mary  herself,  I  think  —  that   there   was    already   what 
amounted  to  an  engagement  and  no  special  reason  for  de 
laying  the  marriage." 

'  That's  quite  satisfactory,  I  should  think.  We've 
always  known  the  Van  Arsdales." 

Mildred  felt  herself  turn  pale  under  her  tan.  So  this 
was  the  life  already  laid  down  for  her!  Well,  hadn't 
she  wanted  it  herself,  a  year  ago?  One  of  her  cousins 
roused  her. 

"  What  are  working  people  like  to  live  with?  " 

Mildred,  looking  up,  caught  the  eye  of  Wicks,  late  of 
the  Forestry  Service,  now  engaged  in  handing  salad,  and 
laughed  nervously. 

"  Exactly  like  us,  Cousin  Edmund,"  she  said. 

But  when  she  had  said  it  she  knew  she  was  wrong. 
They  were  not  in  the  least  like  her  kinsfolk,  these  young 
people  who  had  experienced  the  practical  working  of 
democracy.  Her  family  represented  not  the  survival  of 
the  fittest  but  the  survival  of  the  preferred.  Wasn't 
there  a  phrase  "preferred  stock?"  Well,  the  Carvers 
were  preferred  stock.  She  looked  at  her  older  cousins 
who  had  gone  ahead  of  her  on  the  social  path  —  who  had 
passed  from  the  debutante  stage  to  that  of  young  ma 
trons,  borne  their  modest  quota  of  children  and  were 
pursuing  the  life  ordained  to  the  Carver  women.  She 
looked  at  her  mother  and  her  aunts  who  were  at  the  zenith 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  189 

of  a  Carver  career  —  marrying  off  their  sons  and  daugh 
ters  suitably,  ordering  their  household  perfectly,  enter 
taining  distinguished  guests  in  a  distinguished  fashion, 
occasionally  sitting  on  charitable  boards  or  furthering  not 
too  radical  reforms.  She  thought  of  Nick  —  dear  Nick, 
who  would  be  coming  back  soon,  expecting  to  marry  her ; 
Nick,  who  belonged  to  this  old  world  of  hers  and  would 
expect  her  to  belong  to  it  too,  and  she  felt  as  though  a 
terrible  thing  were  coming  nearer,  something  that  would 
close  over  her  and  shut  out  the  air,  that  would  bind  her 
hands  and  feet  and  lay  an  intolerable  burden  on  her 
shoulders,  and  unless  she  had  some  relief,  she  knew  she 
would  scream.  Suddenly  she  turned  to  her  father: 

"  Father,  you  know  about  steel  —  isn't  there  some  way 
of  making  the  saw-edged  blades  on  reapers  harder  than 
they  are?  I  had  a  dreadful  time  breaking  them  in  Da 
kota.  Isn't  there  something  harder  to  make  them  of?  " 

Frank  turned  in  his  chair  and  faced  her. 

"  I  think  there  is  —  or  rather  that  there  is  going  to  be. 
Would  you  care  to  go  to  the  laboratory  and  look  at  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  father  — when?" 

"  To-morrow,  if  you  like." 

"  But,  Frank,"  protested  Mary,  "  Mildred  hasn't  any 
thing  to  wear.  I  want  to  get  her  some  clothes  to-mor 
row." 

"  Oh,  I  can  wear  my  uniform !  " 

There  was  instant  silence  in  the  room.  They  all  rec 
ognized  the  beginning  of  the  struggle. 


CHAPTER    XX 

MARY  CARVER  caught  at  her  daughter's  life 
with  quick  hands.  She  had  no  intention  of 
permitting  any  further  interference  with  the 
career  so  definitely  appointed  by  Providence  for  her 
daughter.  Was  not  the  Service  past  and  the  time  of 
pleasures  at  hand?  So  she  took  her  young  agriculturist 
to  dressmakers  and  shoemakers  and  hatmakers  and  cor 
set  makers  and  all  the  other  makers  of  successful  de 
butantes.  Mildred  revelled  in  clothes  for  things  that  she 
had  almost  forgotten  could  happen,  —  gowns  to  dance  in, 
and  dine  in,  and  go  to  the  theater  in,  and  eat  at  restau 
rants  in,  and  drive  in,  and  walk  in ;  and  hats  and  wraps  and 
shoes  and  gloves  and  veils  and  fans  and  furs  to  go  with 
them  and  all  the  other  lovelinesses  that  money  and  taste 
can  provide  for  a  young  American  princess.  It  was  a 
matter  for  time  and  effort,  for  racking  thought  and  anx 
ious  consideration,  for  fittings  and  drapings  and  measur- 
ings  —  and  for  failures  and  disappointments  as  well  as 
successes.  Henriette  manicured  and  hairdressed  and  ex 
perimented  with  creams,  the  dressmakers  circled  around 
the  hems  of  Mildred's  skirts  on  their  knees,  their  mouths 
full  of  pins,  milliners  bent  and  rebent  the  brims  of  her 
hats.  Physically  it  was  easy  enough  to  groom  her  for  her 
part ;  mentally  it  was  not  so  easy.  For  just  at  that  very 
year  when  it  had  been  the  Carver  habit  to  take  the  awak 
ening  mind  of  the  young  and  set  it  in  stays  and 
circumvent  it,  and  balk  its  explorations  and  gropings 

190 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  191 

and  joyous  adventures,  and  smother  it  with  outward 
activities,  the  Service  had  thrown  the  gates  wide.  Some 
how  Mary  Carver  felt  that  she  must  blot  out  the  Service 
year. 

"  You  must  remember  that  that's  all  past  now,  daugh 
ter,"  she  said  one  day. 

But  Mildred  answered,  "  It's  never  going  to  be  past, 
mother.  I  couldn't  get  away  from  it  if  I  tried." 

Mary  Carver  cursed  —  in  the  terms  allowed  on  the  lips 
of  perfect  ladies  —  the  day  when  the  democratic  theories 
of  her  ancestors  began  to  clothe  themselves  in  industrial 
forms  and  claim  recognition  even  in  the  best  society,  for 
Nick  had  not  come  back  and,  worst  of  all,  Mildred  didn't 
seem  to  care. 

But  the  preparations  for  Mildred's  coming  out  went 
briskly  on;  dresses  were  finished,  dates  set,  visiting  lists 
revised  and  invitations  sent.  Mary  had  not  much  doubt 
about  Mildred's  social  success  because  she  was  beautiful 
and  people  —  particularly  men  —  liked  her. 

Old  Andrew  reassured  and  frightened  her  at  the  same 
time. 

"  One  of  the  most  charming  girls  I  ever  saw,  Mary,  but 
not  the  kind  of  girl  we've  had  before!  The  men  are 
going  to  like  her,"  and  then  after  a  pause,  "  All  kinds  of 
men,  Mary.  What  are  you  doing  to  do  with  her  after 
you  bring  her  out?  " 

"  Why,  marry  her,  Uncle  Andrew." 

"And  then  what?" 

"  Oh,  the  usual  thing,  I  suppose !  " 

"  Mary,  don't  you  see  that  there  isn't  going  to  be  any 
usual  thing  about  your  daughter  ?  The  time  is  past  when 
marriage  is  the  only  career  for  a  lady,  my  dear.  Even 
the  daughters  of  princes  keep  shops.  This  new  business 
of  the  Service  opens  more  doors  than  we  knew  existed. 


192  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

Can't  you  agree  with  your  daughter  that  there  are  several 
things  she  might  do  with  her  life?  Is  it  true,  something 
somebody  said  to  me,  about  Henry  Van  Arsdale's  boy  and 
Mildred?" 

Old  Andrew  could  be  as  direct  as  Mamie  Epstein  when 
he  chose. 

'  They  wanted  to  be  engaged  before  they  went  into  the 
Service." 

"  I  suppose  you  and  Frank  wouldn't  let  them  ?  " 

"  Well,  Uncle  Andrew,  they  were  so  young!  " 

"Where's  the  boy?" 

"  Nick  isn't  back  yet  —  at  least  we  haven't  seen  him." 

"  I  expect,  Mary,  that  you're  going  to  have  a  great  deal 
of  trouble  if  you  try  and  bring  that  match  on  now,  if  the 
boy's  as  much  changed  as  she  is.  Unless  he's  changed  in 
just  the  same  way,  there  won't  be  any  use  trying." 

"  I'm  going  to  try  it,  Uncle  Andrew  —  just  the  same. 
It's  a  perfect  match  and  exactly  what  I  want  for  her." 

"  You  think,  my  dear  Mary,  that  these  girls  are  all  con 
cerned  with  marriage  and  men.  Well,  you're  wrong. 
This  never  was  true,  in  the  purely  physical  sense  we're 
afraid  to  put  into  cold  words.  They  have  been  intensely 
interested,  and  almost  exclusively  interested  in  marriage 
because  it  was  the  most  attractive  career  open  to  them  — 
not  because  of  the  men  they  must  marry  to  achieve  it. 
Now  that  they've  the  choice  of  so  many  things  to 
do,  marriage  loses  its  monopoly.  It's  only  one  of  many 
careers.  When  they're  older  it  is  different;  the  preoc 
cupation  with  men  comes  later." 

So  Mary  Carver  was  greatly  disturbed  for  she  knew 
that  Old  Andrew  was  a  psychological  barometer,  and 
more  and  more  she  wished  that  Nick  would  come  back. 

Mrs.  Carver  was  not  the  only  person  distressed  at 
Nick's  absence.  Henry  Van  Arsdale,  having  received 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  193 

instead  of  his  son  a  letter  from  him  saying  that  Nick  felt 
he  had  no  right  to  go  home  while  the  Nation  needed  so 
many  new  roads  in  Arizona  in  order  to  move  the  copper 
from  the  mines  to  where  the  country  needed  it,  was  much 
disconcerted.  Hadn't  the  boy  done  what  the  government 
wanted  him  to  for  a  whole  year?  What  more  did  he 
think  he  ought  to  do  ?  There  were  phrases  that  puzzled 
him  in  his  son's  letter  — -"The  right  to  good  roads"  — 
"  my  patriotic  obligations  "  (did  the  boy  think  he  was  a 
soldier  then?)  "Answering  the  call  for  transportation," 
"  Being  an  inland  marine  for  Uncle  Sam,"  "  Helping  out 
the  people's  railroads  "  -  what  did  the  boy  think  he  was, 
then  —  a  public  servant?  A  member  of  the  Civil  Serv 
ice?  Didn't  he  realize  that  he'd  done  his  duty  already? 
That  he'd  finished  his  Service  Year  and  that  the  country 
had  no  further  claim  on  him  ?  Why  didn't  the  boy  come 
home !  There  wasn't  any  hint  of  how  long  he  wanted 
to  stay  or  what  his  plans  were. 

Henry  Van  Arsdale,  looking  around  his  library,  was 
conscious  of  a  sudden  distaste  for  his  surroundings.  The 
low  oak  bookcases  which  filled  in  the  spaces  between  the 
windows  and  doors  struck  him  as  particularly  unattrac 
tive.  The  small  bronzes  and  carved  ivories  and  bits  of 
porcelain  set  on  top  of  them  seemed  particularly  ill  chosen. 
His  cigar,  just  lighted,  had  a  rank  flavor,  and  he  tossed  it 
into  the  fireplace.  Even  his  great  padded  chair  was  un 
comfortable,  and  he  rose  sharply  from  it  and  strode  about 
the  room.  The  deep  springs  of  feeling  carefully  lidded 
down  by  his  breeding  were  welling  dangerously  near  the 
top.  He  wanted  his  son  back,  and  he  was  deeply  hurt 
that  after  a  year's  almost  uninterrupted  absence,  the  boy 
should  choose  to  potter  about  in  the  Southwest. 

But  although  Nick  did  not  come  back  the  winter  hur 
ried  forward  and  the  day  came  when  Mildred,  tall  and 
o 


194  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

rather  splendid,  stood  beside  her  mother  as  the  guests 
came  in.  The  brown  edge  of  her  tanned  neck  was  still 
plain  above  her  white  gown  and  the  string  of  tiny  pearls 
that  had  been  her  grandmother's.  There  wasn't  anything 
of  the  timid  bud  about  this  girl  who  had  drawn  straight 
furrows  over  half  the  Mississippi  Valley!  The  Carvers 
had  never  before  presented  a  young  farm  hand  as  a  de 
butante.  Mary  Carver,  standing  beside  her  dignified, 
self-possessed  young  citizen,  felt  as  though  she  were  per 
petrating  a  joke  on  society. 

To  Mildred  it  didn't  seem  a  joke  but  a  delectable  dissi 
pation  —  a  bubbly  draught  that  went  to  her  head  and  left 
her  uncritical.  For  all  these  important  people  had  put 
on  their  loveliest  clothes  and  their  brightest  jewels  just 
to  welcome  her  —  Mildred  Carver !  They  had  sent  her 
flowers,  till  the  whole  house  was  laden  with  conflicting 
perfumes.  For  her  the  orchestra  was  playing;  for  her 
the  rows  of  motors  blocked  Washington  Square;  for  her 
delicate  food  was  set  on  flower  laden  tables  —  for  her  — 
for  her ! 

And  she  sparkled  and  dimpled  under  her  brown  skin, 
and  laughed  in  a  little  quick  ascending  scale,  and  so  blos 
somed  in  the  sun  of  favor  that  her  eyes  shone  with  a  kind 
and  tender  gayety,  and  her  rich  lips  parted  in  a  frank  and 
generous  smile  and  the  same  indefinable  charm  that  had 
drawn  John  Barton  from  the  flour  mill  and  the  Swedish 
farmhand  out  of  the  sunset,  encircled  her  now  and  men 
and  women  stopped  to  watch. 

Mr.  Apperson  Forbes  backed  into  the  vantage  ground 
of  a  window  and  eyed  her  intently.  Andrew  Carver,  see 
ing  him  looking  at  Mildred,  settled  his  glasses  on  his 
nose  and  watched  him  shift  his  position  again  and  again 
when  incoming  guests  shut  off  his  view  of  the  young  girl 
—  saw  his  under  lip  thrust  itself  forward  and  his  eyes 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  195 

narrow,  and  then  when  the  music  from  the  ball  room 
swelled  more  insistently  and  the  younger  people  began  to 
drift  toward  it,  saw  him  shake  the  kinks  out  of  his  long 
thin  legs  and  lead  Mildred  toward  the  dancing.  Old 
Andrew  sighed. 

"  Almost  anything  is  better  than  the  usual  thing  — 
sometimes !  "  he  said  to  his  own  memory. 

That  night  —  or  rather  that  morning  before  dawn  — 
Mildred  lay  high  against  her  pillows  living  the  evening 
through  again.  The  wine  of  excitement  had  died  out  a 
little,  but  still  there  was  the  feel  of  the  soft  scented  rush 
of  the  ball,  like  colored  lights  on  a  quick  stream  with  just 
a  few  things  to  be  remembered,  —  a  lady  slender  and 
elderly,  the  very  greatest  lady  in  the  very  greatest  family 
in  all  New  York,  holding  her  hand  for  a  moment  and 
then  bending  forward  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  kiss  her 
lightly  on  the  cheek  and  whisper  with  real  emotion  in  her 
tired,  handsome  eyes : 

"  My  dear  —  I  wish  I  were  in  your  place !  " 
Her  Uncle  Andrew,  bringing  her  flowers  himself  in  the 
old  fashioned  way,  and  presenting  them  as  he  might  have 
offered  them  to  a  reigning  sovereign,  flowers  that  she  in 
sisted  on  holding,  though  the  fashion  of  that  had  passed. 
Mr.  Van  Arsdale,  lured  from  his  books  and  his  club  to  pay 
his  respects  to  the  girl  who  might  have  been  his  daughter- 
in-law  —  but  with  no  word  of  Nick.  It  seemed  to  Mil 
dred  that  Mr.  Van  Arsdale  had  made  a  very  special  effort 
to  be  nice  to  her  and  that  he  had  not  been  altogether  at 
ease.  And  then  came  the  picture  of  Apperson  Forbes 
making  his  plea  for  a  dance,  her  mother's  quick  nod  of 
acquiescence.  His  thin,  elderly  arm  had  guided  her  fault 
lessly  to  the  music  —  her  first  dance  at  her  first  ball !  As 
she  thought  of  it  now,  there  had  not  been  a  great  many 


196  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

young  men  for  her  to  dance  with  —  not  nearly  as  many  as 
there  had  been  at  the  school-girl  dances  when  she  was  six 
teen.  She  speculated  about  it  there  in  the  warm  dark  — 
some  of  them  were  in  college,  of  course,  and  a  good  many 
of  those  she  knew  had  gone  straight  into  business  after 
they  finished  their  Service  Year.  And  then  those  who 
were  as  old  as  Winthrop  and  David  —  those  who  had 
gone  to  France  —  so  many  didn't  come  back !  She  re 
membered  that  she  had  danced  with  several  married  men, 
and  men  almost  as  old  as  her  father,  that  night.  Now, 
when  they  had  danced  in  the  barracks,  there  had  been 
plenty  of  men.  And  she  considered  with  rising  resent 
ment  that  her  mother  hadn't  asked  any  of  her  Service 
friends  —  not  even  Ruth  Ansel  whose  people  she  knew ! 
And  then  what  she  had  tried  to  drive  below  the  surface 
of  her  mind  all  the  evening  —  the  fact  that  Nick  wasn't 
there  and  hadn't  even  taken  the  trouble  to  send  her  word 
—  came  to  the  top  of  her  consciousness.  Nick  had  ap 
parently  forgotten  that  he  had  asked  her  to  marry  him  — 
they  were  to  have  insisted  on  being  engaged  as  soon  as 
their  year  was  over !  And  to  have  been  married  almost 
right  away !  He  either  didn't  care  for  her  any  more,  or 
thought  the  matter  of  no  consequence,  or  perhaps  had 
found  a  girl  he  cared  for  more.  And  Mildred  found  that 
the  dregs  of  the  wine  of  excitement  were  bitter  in  the 
mouth  when  she  slid  down  under  blankets  and  tried  to 
go  to  sleep. 

Her  mother  and  father  were  talking  in  their  sitting 
room  —  Mary  Carver's  hair,  almost  as  long  and  as  golden 
as  her  daughter's,  had  been  brushed  and  coiled  for  the 
night,  her  tired  feet  were  in  the  softest  of  slippers  and  she 
was  sitting  forward,  her  chin  set  into  the  bowl  of  her  two 
hands,  looking  anxiously  into  the  fire. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  197 

"Well,  Mary,  what  is  it?"  Frank  asked  her  at  last. 

"  It's  everything!  " 

"  Why,  it  seemed  a  good  enough  party  —  as  parties  go 
—  was  anything  wrong?  " 

"  Frank  Carver,  I  don't  believe  that  you  really  looked 
at  the  party  from  Mildred's  standpoint  at  all  —  you  just 
thought  it  must  be  all  right  because  the  people  came  and 
enjoyed  themselves  and  it  was  all  so  pretty  to  look  at. 
You  didn't  see  the  awfulness  of  it !  " 

"  Why,  no  —  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  —  everybody  knows,  —  that  there's 
just  one  reason  for  bringing  a  girl  out  and  that's  to  get 
her  married.  We  may  pretend  about  it,  but  we  know 
that's  what  it's  for!" 

Frank  wound  his  watch  slowly  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  it  —  though  I  hate  to  admit  it  even 
to  myself." 

"  I  don't !  We  want  her  to  marry,  so  why  not  say  so? 
And  we  want  her  to  marry  the  right  sort  of  a  man,  so 
why  not  see  that  she  meets  him?  " 

"  I'm  not  as  honest  as  you,  Mary.  I'd  rather  not  put 
it  into  words  when  it  concerns  my  own  daughter." 

"  I  realize  your  limitations,  my  dear,  —  but  whether 
we  shall  say  it  or  not,  isn't  the  point.  What  I'm  blue 
about,  is  that  there  was  hardly  a  man  here  to-night  I'd 
consider  letting  her  marry." 

Frank  swung  round  from  the  fireplace. 

"What!" 

"  I  mean  it  —  hardly  one !  Just  think  it  over  your 
self  —  there  were  the  two  Townsends,  about  the  right 
age  and  of  course  they're  the  right  kind  of  people  —  but 
Tom's  as  solemn  as  one  of  those  gray  cranes  we  saw  on 
the  Gulf  —  life  would  be  very  dull  with  him  —  and  the 
youngest  has  been  obviously  in  love  with  Minnie  Martin 


198  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

for  six  years  and  it  begins  to  look  like  the  sort  of  grande 
passion  that's  almost  extinct.  And  there  were  those  two 
from  the  British  Embassy  —  England  isn't  very  bad  of 
course,  but  it  isn't  New  York  —  there  were  a  few  others, 
but  when  you  come  right  down  to  it,  they  were  a  rather 
left  over  lot.  Why,  do  you  know  who  took  her  to  the 
ball  room  for  the  first  dance?  Apperson  Forbes!  " 

"Oh,  I  say!" 

"Yes,  he  did!" 

"  It  wasn't  so  bad  as  that  in  the  Service  —  those  men  I 
saw  there  were  at  least  young  and  strong  —  not  desic 
cated  remains,  —  residual  legatees  of  another  genera 
tion!" 

"  Oh,  why  isn't  Nick  Van  Arsdale  back !  Then  we'd 
arrange  that  marriage  right  away  and  she'd  forget  all 
about  this  foreman  and  the  Swede  and  that  terrible  Serv 
ice!" 

''She'll  forget  the  men  anyway,  I  think  —  but  how 
about  the  work?  " 

"  Oh,  Frank,  as  though  work  was  a  thing  anybody 
liked  to  do!" 

But  Frank  Carver,  remembering  the  rapt  face  of  his 
daughter  above  the  wheels  of  the  reaping  machine,  was 
not  so  sure. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

IT  was  true  that  Henry  Van  Arsdale  was  offering  a 
tacit  apology  for  Nick's  absence  by  his  presence  at 
Mildred's  debutante  dance.  He  was  bewildered 
and  distressed  by  the  situation.  What  was  this  boy 
up  to?  That  Nick  was  high  strung  and  excitable  his 
father  knew,  —  what  if  he  had  got  into  some  scrape  and 
was  afraid  to  tell  him  about  it!  Well,  suppose  he  had, 
wasn't  it  the  part  of  a  wise  parent  to  let  him  fight  through 
it  alone?  Did  it  not  make  for  strength  of  character? 
But  Henry  Van  Arsdale  could  not  comfort  himself  with 
this  thought.  A  picture  of  all  the  things  that  could 
possibly  happen  to  Nick  began  to  keep  him  awake  nights, 
began  to  steal  in  through  the  curtains  of  his  bedroom  and 
lie  in  wait  for  him  in  the  corners  of  his  library,  and  in 
trench  themselves  under  the  dining  room  table.  He 
might  have  some  crazy  idea  of  prospecting  a  mine  for 
himself  —  silly  thing  to  do  when  he  didn't  need  the 
money!  There  was  a  lot  of  political  filibustering  and 
half-baked  revolution  still  going  back  and  forth  across 
the  Mexican  border ;  perhaps  he  was  playing  D'Artagnan 
to  some  intrigue,  —  that  would  appeal  to  his  sense  of  ad 
venture.  It  might  be  that  he  had  a  touch  of  malaria  or 
something  like  that !  But  anyway  the  fact  that  Mildred 
had  made  her  debut  ought  to  have  brought  him  home. 
Henry  Van  Arsdale  dropped  his  book  —  that  might  be 
the  trouble !  The  boy  might  have  fallen  in  love  —  it  had 
been  a  long  time  since  he  had  seen  Mildred!  He  had 

199 


200  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

heard  that  those  Mexican  girls  were  as  lovely  as  Spanish 
sefioritas ! 

In  Henry  Van  Arsdale  the  need  for  action,  —  imme 
diate  physical  action,  —  had  almost  entirely  lapsed.  His 
impulses  were  mostly  born  into  an  unreal  world  where 
they  died  without  even  the  intent  of  fulfillment.  But 
this  danger  to  his  son  upheaved  the  rock  strata  of  his 
habits. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  to  Arnold,  who  answered  his  bell, 
"  that  you  would  have  them  pack  a  bag  for  me,  and  get  a 
check  cashed,  and  will  you  see  when  the  next  train  goes 
West  and  make  arrangements  for  me  to  go  on  it?  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Yes,  sir.  I  am  afraid  that  the  bank 
is  closed  for  the  day,  sir,  and  I  shall  have  to  get  the  money 
out  of  your  safe." 

"  Fix  it  any  way  you  like,  Arnold,  only  tell  them  to 
hurry  everything." 

And  so  Henry  Van  Arsdale,  a  little  tremulous  from  his 
nervous  tumult,  found  himself  on  a  slow  train  crawling 
into  Arizona.  The  people  about  him  made  up  part  of  his 
distaste  for  his  position.  They  were  thin,  and  colorless, 
as  though  the  hot  sun  had  bleached  them  out  instead  of 
ripening  something  fine  and  rich  within.  They  were  ill- 
shaped  and  carried  themselves  lumberingly.  Their  shoes 
in  particular,  —  and  he  looked  appreciatively  at  his  own 
custom  made  boots  —  were  very  trying  to  the  aesthetic 
eye.  The  women,  he  thought  resentfully,  were  the  type 
that  should  have  been  in  sunbonnets,  but  were  not. 

When  he  turned  from  the  people  to  the  dry  desert 
about  him,  he  was  still  more  unhappy.  It  was  so  deso 
late,  so  inhuman !  The  dry  land  billowed  away  from  the 
railroad  tracks  in  ill-shaped,  ragged  waves  that  seemed 
to  beat  on  the  low  lines  of  red  rock  against  the  horizon. 
Instead  of  trees,  tall  gray  cactuses  stood  about  the  desert 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  201 

as  though  some  prehistoric  pile  driver  had  driven  them 
in.  The  only  color  was  in  the  little  spots  of  green  about 
some  settler's  cabin,  or  near  some  infrequent  spring.  This 
unmitigated  barrenness  was  what  his  son  had  preferred 
to  New  York  —  what  was  the  strong  tie  that  held  him  ? 

Nicholas  Van  Arsdale,  assistant  foreman  in  a  govern 
ment  road-making  gang  working  in  Arizona,  was  thor 
oughly  enjoying  his  job.  The  work  of  reshaping  the 
earth  to  the  uses  of  man;  of  blasting  and  digging  and  fit 
ting  and  grading  and  topping  and  dragging  till  the  moun 
tain  side  was  ready  for  burden  of  wheels,  seemed  to 
him  a  great  act  of  creation.  And  the  sense  of  his  duty  as 
a  citizen  which  had  been  born  during  his  year  in  the  Uni 
versal  Service  was  satisfied  also,  for  he  could  see  how  the 
road  he  was  helping  to  build  would  make  it  easier  for  the 
Secretary  of  Mines  to  get  out  the  copper.  Day  by  day 
the  time  drew  near  when  the  tiny  mine  tractors  would 
drag  their  trains  of  cars  up  the  grade.  Nick  felt  his 
heart  pound  at  the  thought  of  the  first  load  of  copper  that 
would  come  down  over  his  road. 

But  though  the  work  itself  was  satisfying  the  life  he 
had  to  lead  was  dreary  enough.  He  wondered  why  any 
thing  so  indispensable  to  the  welfare  of  the  race  as  cop 
per  should  hide  away  below  the  surface  of  the  desert 
where  nobody  he  cared  about  lived ;  where  Mildred  Car 
ver  in  particular  could  not  possibly  be  expected  to  make 
her  home.  For  his  mind  was  full  of  Mildred  these  days 
—Mildred  on  the  other  side  of  a  tennis  net,  Mildred  with 
her  shoulder  against  his  in  the  little  gray  racer,  Mildred  on 
the  veranda,  that  wonderful  night  when  the  silver,  per 
fume-laden  mist  came  up  the  valley,  and  Mildred  going 
away  with  his  ring  on  her  finger.  It  wasn't  possible  to 
bring  Mildred  to  a  place  like  this  —  to  have  her  live  in 
the  cheap  little  hotels  in  the  mining  towns  or  to  camp 


202  MILDRED  CARVER,   U.   S.   A. 

about  from  place  to  place  as  the  road  progressed.  She 
wasn't  the  kind  of  girl  that  would  fit  into  such  a  casual 
existence  —  it  wouldn't  be  right  to  ask  her.  Why,  she's 
just  "come  out!"  Her  time  was  probably  filled  with 
dances  and  receptions  and  theaters  and  lots  of  fellows 
would  be  wanting  to  marry  her.  Nick  kicked  viciously 
at  a  particularly  rich  piece  of  copper-bearing  rock  as  he 
thought  about  it.  He  wouldn't  have  any  right  to  marry 
her  and  make  her  unhappy;  and  he  couldn't  let  himself  be 
a  slacker  and  go  back  on  his  job,  —  not  as  a  citizen  in  a 
real  democracy  he  couldn't!  No!  There  was  nothing 
for  him  but  work  —  that  was  a  man's  job. 

And  just  as  he  had  settled  the  matter  for  the  thousandth 
time  came  his  father  from  New  York.  The  afternoon 
sun  was  glaring  brazenly  on  the  bare,  unshaded  street ;  on 
the  square,  cheap  railroad  hotel  with  the  despondent  flower 
boxes  pulled  back  into  the  protecting  shade  of  the  shallow 
veranda ;  on  the  two  churches  fronting  each  other  bellig 
erently  across  the  street;  on  the  stores  with  their  limp 
awnings ;  on  the  abandoned  offices  of  the  old  mining  com 
pany;  and  on  the  rows  of  miners'  cabins  straggling  up  the 
sides  of  the  canyon  on  stilts,  dreary,  flimsy,  absolutely 
stereotyped  living  places  baking  in  the  sun,  as  Henry  Van 
Arsdale  greeted  his  son.  What  a  place  his  boy  had  chosen 
to  live  in ! 

After  they  had  dined  on  the  stereotyped,  standardized 
food  which  the  remote  hotels  of  the  United  States  keep 
continually  on  hand,  they  found  places  for  themselves  on 
the  hotel  veranda  beside  the  drooping  plants.  It  had 
been  ninety  in  the  shade  most  of  the  day  and  the  street 
had  been  empty;  but  now  with  the  drop  of  the  sun  the 
desert  was  losing  its  heat  and  a  little  cold  wind  came  up 
from  nowhere  and  blew  upon  them. 

The  slow,  shuffling  steps  of  the  Mexican  and  Spanish 


MILDRED  CARVER,   U.   S.   A.  203 

miners  sounded  in  the  dark  street  and  they  would  sud 
denly  emerge  into  the  glare  of  the  arc  light  as  though  a 
curtain  had  been  lifted  from  before  them.  The  high 
laughter  of  the  women  who  greeted  them  jarred  out  of 
the  darkness,  there  was  the  occasional  clatter  of  a  cheap 
automobile  and  the  quick  pattering  footsteps  of  the  little 
burros  as  a  pack  train  came  back  from  the  mountains. 
But  over  and  through  these  sounds,  which  were  much  the 
same  as  those  which  had  filled  the  evenings  in  that  region 
ever  since  copper  was  first  mined  there,  came  the  young, 
fresh  laughter  of  the  boys  in  the  Universal  Service. 
From  them  came  bursts  of  song,  usually  exaggeratedly 
sentimental  in  intent  but  inharmoniously  matter  of  fact 
in  rendering.  They  scurried  in  and  out  of  the  picture 
show,  and  bought  the  little  drug  store  out  of  ice  cream; 
they  skylarked  about  the  streets  and  engaged  in  wrestling 
matches  on  the  pavement.  The  Mexican  miners  watched 
them  in  uncomprehending  stolidity.  Why  should  not 
all  one's  leisure  be  spent  in  the  sensible  pursuit  of  resting? 

It  was  easy  enough  to  start  Nick  talking  about  roads 
and  how  to  make  them  and  where  they  ought  to  go  — 
easy  to  get  him  to  talk  about  the  town  which  he  had  ex 
plored  carefully  —  easy  to  get  him  to  talk  about  the  desert 
which  he  found  wonderful  and  entrancing  in  spite  of  its 
barrenness.  Henry  Van  Arsdale  quieted  his  minor  fears 
which  related  to  mining,  malaria  and  sporadic  revolution 
almost  at  once.  But  the  question  of  the  possible  inam 
orata  hadn't  been  broached. 

A  bold-eyed  girl  stole  cautiously  to  the  veranda  and 
peered  over  at  them  smiling.  Nick  turned  his  shoulder 
with  a  shrug  of  distaste. 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  the  people  who  live  in  the 
town?  "  his  father  asked  diplomatically. 

"  I  know  the  new  road  contractor.     And  there's  the 


204  MILDRED   CARVER,  U.   S.   A. 

night  clerk  in  the  hotel,  he's  a  college  man,  came  from 
Chicago.  I've  talked  with  the  two  mining  engineers  who 
are  working  for  the  company  —  oh,  yes,  I  know  several 
people  who  live  here." 

"  I  mean  don't  you  know  any  men  who  have  homes 
here?  Any  people  with  families?  Any  women,  —  or 
girls?" 

The  smiling  girl  stole  furtively  past  again. 

"  That's  about  the  only  kind  of  women  there  are  here, 
sir,"  and  his  lips  curling  with  distaste  for  this  particular 
characteristic  of  a  mining  town. 

"  I  don't  understand  exactly  what  you  want  to  stay  out 
here  any  longer  for,  Nick.  It  seems  to  me  that  you've 
gone  into  this  business  of  making  roads  a  good  deal,  why 
not  study  something  else?  I'd  like  to  have  you  home 
again,  and  Mildred  is  back." 

Nick  got  up  and  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda  — 
his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  know  she's  back  —  but  - —  I  don't  want  to  go  home. 
I'd  rather  stay  here." 

"  But  Mildred  must  be  expecting  you.  Have  you 
written  her  that  you  are  delayed  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  You  ought  to,  Nick.  She  will  wonder  what  has  hap 
pened." 

Nick  braced  himself  against  the  veranda  rail. 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  misunderstand  you,  sir.  I  suppose 
you  think  I  ought  to  go  back  and  ask  Mildred  again,  but 
I  just  can't  see  it.  I  was  an  entirely  different  person  a 
year  ago  and  I  don't  think  she  would  like  me  now  as  she 
did  then,  only  she  might  not  know  I  was  different  and 
marry  me  anyway." 

"  How  do  you  mean  you  are  '  different'  ?  " 

"  Well,  there  are  such  a  lot  of  things  I  want  to  do. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  205 

When  I  went  away  I  just  thought  that  there  was  college, 
and  I  would  go  to  that;  then  there  was  all  the  world  to 
travel  about  it,  and  I  would  travel  about  in  it;  then  there 
was  Mildred,  and  I  thought  we  would  keep  on  doing  to 
gether  just  the  same  sort  of  things  that  we  had  both  been 
doing  all  our  lives." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  to  do  now?  " 

"  I  want  to  make  roads.  Why,  father,  there's  a  man 
who  was  head  of  our  gang  up  in  Iowa  told  me  that  he 
thought  the  day  of  railroads  was  past.  That  it  wasn't 
enough  to  lay  steel  rails  just  in  a  few  places  over  the 
surface  of  the  earth  and  have  just  a  few  railroad  trains. 
He  said,  and  I  don't  see  any  reason  why  he  isn't  right, 
that  you  can  build  a  kind  of  railroad  train  that  will  run 
on  any  road  that  is  good  enough  for  an  automobile.  He 
said,  and  I  don't  see  why  it  isn't  true,  that  a  farmer  way 
up  in  the  edge  of  Dakota  should  be  able  to  load  his  own 
wheat  crop  right  on  his  own  farm  and  then  take  the  car 
down  the  regular  road  if  it  was  the  right  kind  of  road 
and  have  it  attached  to  a  train  and  carried  on  till  it  is 
hitched  on  to  a  longer  train  and  goes  on  down  to  the  mills 
where  it  is  made  into  flour.  He  says  that  we  would 
make  over  the  whole  world  if  we  had  the  proper  kind  of 
roads  everywhere,  —  government  and  education  and  al 
most  everything  —  and  I  don't  see  why  he  isn't  right. 
They  would  tie  all  the  people  of  the  United  States  to 
gether,  and  all  the  people  of  the  world  together,  if  there 
were  enough  of  them,  and  they  were  good  enough.  It 
seems  to  me  that  it's  my  job  to  help  put  these  roads 
through." 

Henry  Van  Arsdale  smiled  a  little  sadly.  So  many 
people  had  thought  they  had  turned  a  new  leaf  in  the  book 
of  democracy!  He  remembered  the  white-haired  gentle 
man  who  believed  that  the  parcels  post  was  the  opening  of 


206  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

a  new  door  for  all  the  race  to  pass  through,  and  who  pro 
ceeding  on  that  belief,  had  actually  forced  his  idea  upon 
a  reluctant  Congress  and  got  that  one  definite  bit  of  pub 
lic  service  done.  He  remembered  another  enthusiast 
who  felt  that  the  problems  of  housing  the  multitudes  of 
the  great  cities  was  the  most  acute  the  world  needed  to 
solve,  and  gave  his  heart's  blood  for  measures  that  he 
thought  would  bring  lower  rents,  lower  buildings,  more 
sunlight  and  air  and  better  places  to  live  in.  And  then 
there  was  that  great  group  who  felt  that  the  Single  Tax 
on  land  was  the  doorbell  to  the  millennium,  and  others 
who  thought  the  problem  of  universal  happiness  would  be 
solved  by  Socialism,  and  still  other  groups  who  thought 
it  would  be  solved  by  Bolshevism.  And  here  was  this 
son  of  his,  with  the  seer's  light  in  his  eyes  feeling  that  it 
would  be  solved  by  good  roads ! 

Henry  Van  Arsdale  felt  himself  very  old  as  he  looked 
at  his  boy.  Who  was  he  to  stand  between  him  and  his 
chance  of  usefulness?  And  then  came  the  old  code  of 
the  gentleman  bred  into  his  race  for  many  generations. 

"  Nick,"  he  said,  "  this  is  all  very  well,  but  there  is 
your  very  definite  personal  duty.  You  have  asked  a  girl 
to  marry  you,  and  it  is  up  to  you  as  a  gentleman  to  go 
through  with  it." 

"  Father,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  don't  think  it  is.  I  think 
it  is  up  to  me,  as  a  man,  and  incidentally  a  gentleman  too, 
not  to  lure  her  into  a  marriage  where  she  would  not  be 
happy." 

"  Well,  it  is  up  to  you,  my  son,  to  make  her  happy  after 
you  have  married  her." 

"  Do  you  think,  father,  that  to  make  a  woman  happy  is 
the  whole  duty  of  man?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  it  isn't,  Nick.  At  least  you  could 
be  in  a  worse  business  than  making  Mildred  Carver 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  207 

happy."  Henry  Van  Arsdale  was  tired,  he  couldn't  pur 
sue  the  conflict  with  his  son  that  first  night,  so  he  let  the 
subject  drop. 

The  next  day  he  went  with  Nick  over  a  trail  to  a  newly 
opened  mine.  The  company  wanted  to  make  the  trail 
into  the  kind  of  a  road  over  which  they  could  bring  the 
ore  down  to  the  smelter  without  laying  a  track.  Nick 
showed  him  where  the  road  would  have  to  lift  on  the  out 
side  as  it  turned  a  sharp  curve,  and  where  the  grade  would 
have  to  be  cut  to  just  the  proper  number  of  feet  to  the 
mile,  and  how  to  prevent  washouts  in  the  spring  and 
freezing  and  cracking  of  the  roadbed  in  the  winter.  It 
was  a  new  kind  of  interest  for  Henry  Van  Arsdale,  and 
he  got  just  a  little  of  Nick's  enthusiasm  for  this  job. 

But  again  after  dinner  they  sat  on  the  veranda  and 
again  Henry  Van  Arsdale  tried  to  make  his  son  see  his 
duty  through  his  father's  eyes,  and  again  he  failed  utterly. 

"  It's  like  this,  father.  Suppose  I  went  back  to  New 
York  and  married  Mildred.  And  then  suppose  I  had  to 
be  traveling  about  building  roads,  first  in  one  place  and 
then  in  another.  Would  I  leave  Mildred  in  New  York 
by  herself,  or  would  I  keep  her  out  here  winter  and  sum 
mer,  living  in  a  tent  with  nobody  to  talk  to  but  the  road 
gangs  and  nothing  to  do  but  watch  the  same  thing  being 
done  over  and  over  again.  No,  sir,  it  isn't  any  way  to 
treat  a  girl." 

"  Well,  Nick,  of  course  there  is  the  other  alternative. 
You  might  go  back  and  live  in  New  York." 

"  Father,  it  wouldn't  be  right !  It's  my  duty  as  a  cit 
izen  to  go  on  with  my  work  just  as  though  I  were  in  the 
army.  I  am  in  the  army  just  as  much  as  if  I  were  fight 
ing  in  the  trenches.  The  Service  Year  was  just  a  be 
ginning —  the  real  thing  keeps  on  all  your  life.  I  want 
to  marry  Mildred  more  than  ever,  but  you  wouldn't  want 


208  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

me  to  be  a  slacker  in  order  to  make  her  happy,  would 
you?" 

Henry  Van  Arsdale  regarded  his  son  with  a  mixture 
of  exasperation  and  pride.  It  warmed  the  very  lining  of 
his  heart  to  realize  how  thoroughly  the  lad  meant  what 
he  said,  and  yet  — 

"  Do  I  understand  you  to  say,  Nick,  that  you  absolutely 
refuse  to  stand  by  your  word  and  marry  Mildred?  " 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  put  it  that  way,  sir,  it  sounds 
like  a  thoroughly  caddish  thing." 

"  It  is  a  thoroughly  caddish  thing.  There  is  no  other 
word  for  it." 

"  No,  it  isn't,  only  I  can't  make  you  see  it,  sir." 

Another  day  Henry  Van  Arsdale  stayed  in  the  town, 
another  evening  he  sat  on  the  veranda  and  plead  with  his 
son. 

"  Undoubtedly  it  won't  be  long  before  Mildred  marries 
some  one  else,"  he  said  finally. 

Nick  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"No,"  he  protested,  "Oh  no!" 

"  Of  course  she  will  —  why  shouldn't  she?  " 

"  She  doesn't  have  to  marry!     We've  got  past  that!  " 

The  older  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Well,  we  don't  have  to  discuss  it,  anyway.  It's  you 
are  making  it  quite  definitely  not  your  affair." 

Nick  turned  from  him  in  silent  resentment. 

"  What  I  hope,"  the  elder  man  continued  cautiously, 
"  is  that  she  doesn't  make  any  horrible  matrimonial  blun 
der —  get  herself  into  a  tragedy." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  think  there's  any  such  probabil 
ity!" 

"  Perhaps  there  isn't  —  perhaps  not.  I  imagine  there 
won't  be  any  lack  of  applicants!  " 

"Don't,  father!" 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  209 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  can't  stand  thinking  of  her  marrying  anybody  else!" 

"  There  isn't  any  doubt  you'll  have  to !  " 

The  next  day  Henry  Van  Arsdale  started  east  again 
feeling  that  a  barrier  had  grown  up  between  him  and  his 
son  which  could  never  be  broken  down;  a  barrier  not  of 
age  or  conduct,  but  of  the  different  ideals  which  this  new 
life  had  brought  to  the  surface,  arid  he  was  filled  with  a 
bitter  resentment  that  anything  should  come  between  him 
and  this  boy  who  was  the  only  person  he  really  loved  in  the 
world.  To  him  it  seemed  that  the  high  places  of  chiv 
alry  and  honor  and  truth  were  laid  low,  and  that  all  the 
finer  things  that  had  been  bred  into  his  line  through  the 
generations  had  been  swept  away  in  a  murky  stream. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  anger  at  Nick  in  this  feeling 
too.  If  he  had  been  a  feudal  baron  he  would  have  cut 
the  boy  off  with  a  shilling.  But  what  would  have  been 
the  good  of  that  in  a  modern  society  ?  What  would  he  do 
with  his  shillings  when  he  came  to  die?  And  besides 
Nick  had  money  enough  of  his  own.  So  there  was  the 
long  journey  back  through  the  stifling  desert  with  the  dry 
gray  cactus  rising  like  daytime  ghosts  to  overpower  him. 
There  was  the  long  companionship  of  the  dull,  washed- 
out  people  who  filled  the  slow  trains. 

But  as  the  train  dallied  along  through  the  dust,  Henry 
Van  Arsdale  began  to  get  a  new  picture  of  his  son.  He 
had  always  felt  Nick's  brilliance  and  a  certain  dogged 
quality  which  might  make  that  brilliance  count  for  a  good 
deal.  The  boy  might  do  some  gallant  piece  of  explora 
tion  —  might  chart  the  inchoate  region  of  Hudson  Bay 
or  follow  up  the  lost  riverbeds  of  Thibet.  He  had  al 
ways  recognized  a  quality  of  adventure  in  his  boy  that 
might  lead  him  to  aero  racing  or  to  toy  revolutions  in 
South  America.  But  now  —  !  Had  he  been  mistaken 


210  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

in  Nick  all  these  years?  Blind  to  the  big  practical  side 
of  him?  And  the  idealist  side?  And  the  unselfishness? 
It  began  to  grow  in  his  mind  that  what  he  had  to  deal 
with  was  not  a  Service  boy,  but  a  changed  civilization. 
Nick  had  been  inducted  into  a  new  age  and  had  left  the 
codes  and  standards  of  his  father  as  far  in  the  past  as  the 
decrees  of  Amenhotep.  Henry  Van  Arsdale  felt  the 
growing  pains  of  a  new  respect  for  the  ideas  of  this  later 
world  as  the  train  hurried  him  back  to  his  home  —  empty 
without  his  son. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE  obligations  and  engagements  of  a  debutante 
closed  like  waves  of  the  incoming  tide  over 
Mildred.  There  is  no  question  that  she  en 
joyed  herself.  But  the  social  diet  palled  surprisingly 
soon.  It  palled  also  for  most  of  that  year's  flowering  of 
debutantes,  and  the  mothers,  who  were  in  the  main  un 
comprehending,  had  much  difficulty  in  keeping  their 
daughters  in  hand.  More  marriages  than  usual  took 
place  across  the  social  line,  and  they  were  less  cried  out 
upon  than  formerly  because  the  supply  of  eligible  hus 
bands  inside  was  so  patently  inadequate.  But  Mildred 
didn't  formulate  her  rebellion,  even  to  herself,  till  Mamie 
Epstein  put  into  words  her  own  envious  longings. 

It  was  a  Sunday  afternoon  and  Mildred  had  brought 
the  big  car  to  take  Mamie  out  riding.  The  chauffeur, 
under  the  guiding  intelligence  of  Wicks  —  his  twin  as  to 
sombre  braid-trimmed  uniform  —  had  found  the  way 
down  the  Bowery,  across  on  Rivington  Street,  not  unused 
to  the  sight  of  limousines  searching  out  the  Settlements, 
and  south  on  Orchard  Street  where  the  social  life  of  the 
Ghetto  drifted  back  and  forth  on  the  sidewalks.  It  was 
cold  for  New  York  —  but  Yiddish-e-f raus  sat  at  the  door 
ways  of  the  dingy  tenements,  wrapped  in  crocheted  capes 
above  knitted  sweaters,  their  tired  feet  resting  wide  apart 
and  multitudinous  skirts  draping  down  into  the  vast  laps 
that  had  held  many  children.  The  week-day  dikes  of 
push  carts  were  gone  from  the  curb  and  the  tide  of  chil 
dren  played  back  and  forth  from  street  to  sidewalk,  so 

2ir 


212  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

that  the  motor  had  to  bray  its  way  slowly  among  them. 
The  young  girls,  quite  unbelievably  smart  in  their  hard 
earned  clothes  and  with  the  wonderful  eyes  of  the  Orient 
looking  out  into  Occidental  streets,  strolled  back  and  forth 
by  twos  and  threes  casting  long  glances  at  the  groups  of 
young  men  smoking  their  cigarettes  and  lounging  at  the 
corners.  It  was  the  great  democratic  drawing  room  on 
the  day  when  the  New  York  Ghetto  was  "  at  home." 

Wicks  after  one  glance  at  the  doorway  where  they 
stopped,  overstepped  the  bounds  of  his  duty  and  followed 
his  young  mistress  silently  up  the  stairs,  leaving  the  chauf 
feur  unassisted  to  repel  boarding  parties. 

Mamie  was  ready  and  waiting  —  in  fact  she  had  spent 
the  last  hour  hanging  out  of  the  window  in  company  with 
all  the  Epstein  family  who  were  not  doing  scout  duty  up 
and  down  Orchard  Street.  When  the  door  opened 
Mamie  stood  out  against  a  gay  background  of  bright 
figured  wall  paper,  large  patterned  rug,  flamboyant  sofa 
cushions  and  gilt  framed  pictures,  in  new  and  startling 
simplicity,  a  plain  serge  dress  and  a  plain,  dark  hat  and 
an  imitation  but  modest  lace  collar  and  plain  black  shoes. 
This  much  sartorial  wisdom  Mamie  had  gained  since  she 
and  Mildred  found  themselves  side  by  side  in  the  troop 
train.  Her  complexion,  however,  had  taken  on  all  its  old 
elaborate  frankness. 

As  they  went  down  the  stairs  Mildred  was  conscious  of 
doors  carefully  pulled  ajar  and  bright,  dark  eyes  watching 
them  curiously,  and  Wicks  following  in  his  livery  found 
the  doors  opening  wider  yet  as  he  passed  and  a  little  extra 
flutter  and  craning  of  necks  after  him  as  the  special  vis 
ible  hall  mark  of  the  wealth  and  position  that  was  passing 
through  their  building. 

Quite  an  obstruction  had  been  formed  in  Orchard 
Street  by  the  crowd  gathered  around  the  low  bodied,  high 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.   A.  213 

powered  car  with  its  liveried  chauffeur  who  looked  re 
sentfully  at  the  returning  Wicks.  Is  it  any  part  of  the 
duty  of  a  high  salaried  automobile  engineer  to  wrestle 
personally  with  the  young  of  the  proletariat? 

"  Get  right  in,  Mamie.  Wicks,  is  the  heater  under 
Miss  Epstein's  feet?  " 

The  dark  fur  spread  over  their  knees,  the  door 
slammed,  the  crowd  of  children  became  vocal. 

"  Oh,  say  Mamie.  I  know  you  —  oh,  say,  gimme  a 
ride  —  " 

"  I  guess  I  know  her  better'n  you  do  —  ain't  Izzie  Ep 
stein  in  my  room  by  the  school?  Ain't  he?  " 

Their  grimy  fingers  caught  at  the  mud  guards,  their 
feet  tried  to  stay  on  the  running  board  as  the  car  began 
to  move.  As  a  great  moose  might  shake  free  from  harry 
ing  wolves,  the  sleek  automobile  freed  itself  from  the 
children  and  felt  its  way  around  into  Rivington  Street. 

Mamie  balked  her  impulse  to  catch  at  the  gleaming 
handle  of  the  door  as  the  car  at  last  finished  its  slow 
threading  of  the  crowded  quarters  and  turned  swiftly  up 
Fifth  Avenue. 

"  Lean  back,  Mamie,  you'll  be  more  comfortable." 

"  Say,  Mildred  —  this  is  something  grand !  Just  like 
being  in  Heaven  it  must  be  to  go  riding  in  automobiles 
every  day." 

"  I  do  like  riding,  Mamie  —  only  I  like  to  run  the  car 
myself  —  I  can  almost  think  it's  the  tractor  again  when 
I  do." 

:'  You  should  worry  with  two  men  in  grand  suits  al 
ways  to  run  it  for  you !  " 

"  But  I  like  to  do  it  —  you  didn't  do  much  tractor  driv 
ing  so  you  don't  know  what  fun  it  is  to  feel  the  machine 
do  what  you  tell  it  to." 

"  Well,  all  that's  inside  them  tractors  I  cleaned  it  every 


214  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

day  —  it  ain't  so  much  fun  that  I  should  be  getting  home 
sick  if  somebody  else  does  it  a  while  now." 

They  were  sliding  along  up  Fifth  Avenue  and  Mamie's 
quick  glance  swept  from  the  window  displays  of  the  smart 
shops  to  the  Greek  temples  of  the  money  changers  —  back 
to  the  towering  cathedral,  and  then  settled  happily  as  they 
came  abreast  of  the  great  houses. 

"  Any  of  them  you  could  stop  and  see  the  people  in ! 
Now  you  got  an  introduction  to  society  —  ain't  it  so?  " 

"Oh,  no,  Mamie  —  I  don't  even  know  the  names  of 
ever  so  many  people  living  along  here !  Tell  me,  Mamie, 
just  what  is  it  you  do  at  the  Shirt  Waist  factory?  Do 
you  sew  them  or  cut  them  or  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  an  operator  —  I'm  shop  chairlady  now." 

Mamie's  voice  was  indifferent  as  though  she  didn't 
wish  consciously  to  make  the  everyday  part  of  life  too 
vivid  in  this  moment  of  exaltation. 

"  That's  splendid,  Mamie  —  let  me  congratulate  you ! 
I  suppose  a  shop  chairlady  is  like  a  foreman,  isn't  it? 
Like  Mr.  Barton?" 

"  Well,  not  so  you  would  notice  it !  Say,  ain't  that 
the  house  Mr.  Astor  lives  in?  I  seen  it  in  the  paper." 

"  Yes  —  that's  the  house.  But,  Mamie,  what  does  '  op 
erator  '  mean?  What  do  you  operate?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  sewing  on  the  power  machines  —  rows  of 
stitching  with  six  needles  like  your  gang  of  plows,  I'm 
doing  now.  Ain't  that  Mrs.  West's  house  that  gave  the 
dance  there  was  a  princess  to  last  Thursday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  where  Mrs.  West  lives." 

"Were  you  to  it?" 

"  The  dance  ?  For  a  little  while  I  was  —  there  was  a 
crowd." 

"  Honest,  did  you  see  her?  " 

"See  who?" 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  215 

"  Why,  the  princess." 

"  Yes,  I'd  seen  her  before." 

"What's  she  look  like?" 

"  Why,  she's  rather  tall  and  very  thin  —  and  her  eyes 
are  so  big  and  black  that  you  don't  notice  much  else  about 
her.  She  dances  beautifully.  I  think  she  isn't  very 
young.  That  must  be  wonderful,  Mamie  —  to  sew  with 
six  needles  at  once !  I  had  such  an  awful  time  just  sew 
ing  with  one!  And  to  make  shirtwaists  that  everybody 
needs  so,  —  it's  serving  the  country  to  make  them !  Isn't 
it  exciting  to  do  it?  " 

"Exciting?  Say,  it's  something  fierce  it's  that  dull! 
All  day  the  same  thing  over  and  over  it  is.  You  gotta  do 
something  different  all  the  time  from  your  breakfast  till 
the  next  day  —  you  get  the  excitement,  Mildred." 

"  Oh,  no,  Mamie  —  it  isn't  exciting  —  it's  just  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  —  it  isn't  nearly  as  interesting 
as  being  in  the  Service." 

"  I  can  tell  you,  Mildred,  when  I  got  a  automobile  like 
you  got,  and  a  house  to  live  in  like  you  got,  and  a  mamma 
with  real  pearls  like  you  got,  working  by  the  machine  I 
wouldn't  want  I  should  ever  do  it  again!  " 

The  motor  was  stopped  in  the  fifties  by  the  cross  town 
traffic  and  Apperson  Forbes  sauntering  slowly  south  in 
the  formal  afternoon  dress  of  the  perfect  gentleman 
stepped  to  the  curb  beside  it.  His  glance  at  Mildred  was 
as  warm  and  encircling  as  he  could  well  make  it  —  his 
glance  at  Mamie  in  spite  of  the  deferential  bow  under 
the  raised  hat  was  extremely  chill. 

"  I  was  just  going  down  to  Washington  Square  to 
beg  your  mother  for  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  I  think  she's  at  home,"  Mildred  told  him  with  mis 
chievous  simplicity. 

"  But  I've  changed  my  plan." 


216  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Oh  have  you  —  when?  " 

"  Since  seeing  you  going  the  other  way." 

Mildred  felt  herself  blushing  not  so  much  at  what  he 
said  and  the  evident  intention  of  his  look,  as  at  having 
Mamie  a  witness  to  it.  But  Mamie  was  silent  until  the 
car  began  nosing  itself  into  the  curving  ways  of  Central 
Park. 

"  And  beaus  rich  like  millionaires  even  if  they  ain't 
so  young !  " 

There  was  no  use  repudiating  Mamie's  inference  for 
Mildred  knew  that  it  was  true.  She  turned  again  to 
the  thing  that  oppressed  her. 

"  I  wish  I  were  working  at  something  —  I  wish  I  were 
doing  anything  that  anybody  needed  to  have  done  as  you 
are.  I  feel  guilty  all  the  time  —  a  traitor  or  something 
like  that.  When  there  are  such  a  lot  of  things  that  people 
need  to  have  done  and  me  doing  nothing  at  all.  When 
you  make  a  shirtwaist  you  know  that  some  one  is  going 
to  wear  it.  And  it's  so  dull,  Mamie!  You  may  think 
I  am  an  idiot  to  say  so,  but  when  I  remember  that  work 
with  the  Unit- —  especially  when  wre  were  in  the  flour 
mill  —  and  how  there  was  always  something  interesting 
and  different  to  do  all  day  long,  and  people  that  you  liked 
to  talk  to,  and  who  could  tell  you  things  you  didn't  know 
—  why  I  almost  cry  I'm  so  homesick !  " 

"  Well,  Mildred  Carver,  it's  ashamed  to  say  it  you 
should  be,  with  everything  just  like  it  was  heaven  some 
body  told  you  about!  It's  if  you  was  working  by  shirt 
waists  you  should  worry." 

"  Oh,  Mamie,  it's  finding  every  day  just  like  the  day 
before  and  not  doing  anything  that  anybody  needs  and 
not  having  anything  to  interest  you  and  nobody  to  talk 
to  who  knows  about  what  you  like  —  it's  those  things 
that  are  so  awful !  " 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  217 

"  Honest,  Mildred,  you  make  me  mad.  With  not  hav 
ing  to  get  up  in  the  mornings  —  and  clothes  like  every  day 
was  New  Year's  —  going  to  dances  by  grand  gentlemen 
friends  in  automobiles  every  night —  If  you  would  be 
working  by  machine  operating  all  day  and  only  dances 
when  the  Shirtwaist  Union  gives  a  Annual  Grand  Ball, 
and  Banquet  in  Avenue  A  Casino  —  you  could  say  think 
ing  of  the  Service  it  makes  you  lonesome!  And  the 
grand  young  man,  to  come  by  you  in  the  railroad  station 
when  at  Christmas  time  we  came  back  —  and  kissing  you 
like  getting  engaged  —  and  just  as  easy  you  could  marry 
him!  Ain't  it  so!  " 

"Mamie  —  you're  entirely  mistaken.  I'm  not  en 
gaged  to  Nick  Van  Arsdale.  I'm  not  —  and  I'm  not 
going  to  be!  I  don't  even  know  where  he  is!  I  don't 
want  to  know!  " 

"  Just  friends  you  can  be  if  you  want  to,  — but  such  a 
grand  young  man  — 

'*  Please,  Mamie,  let's  not  talk  about  it  —  see,  isn't  that 
a  battleship  anchored  in  the  river?  " 

They  had  slid  through  the  Park  by  now,  following  its 
swinging  curves  without  a  break  and  over  to  the  river 
edge.  The  girls  leaned  forward  watching  a  tiny  launch 
leave  the  companion  ladder  and  turn  toward  shore. 

"  Perhaps  they  are  Service  boys  coming  ashore  —  I 
can't  see  their  uniforms  from  here  —  can  you?  " 

"  Not  so  good.  A  cousin  I  got  in  the  navy  somewhere. 
Last  month  he  went  in  the  Service.  '  Mamie,'  he  says, 
'  not  to  working  by  cloaks  and  suits  do  I  come  back 
again!'" 

"  I've  a  cousin  in  the  navy  too  —  he  gave  his  yacht  to 
the  government  during  the  war  and  then  he  liked  it  so 
much  that  he  enlisted  in  the  navy  and  stayed  right  along. 
He's  a  captain  now.  They  might  be  in  the  same  ship." 


218  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

They  sped  up  Riverside  Drive,  the  river  below  now 
veiled  thinly  by  the  bare  branches  of  trees,  now  showing 
clear  for  miles  to  the  north  till  the  last  worn  down 
rounded  billows  of  the  palisades  cut  it  off.  The  crisp 
wind  brought  a  brighter  color  than  Mamie's  to  Mildred's 
cheeks.  And  as  the  sun  began  to  sink  and  transmute  the 
river  into  gold,  they  turned  and  went  back  through  the 
Sunday  afternoon  quiet  of  the  middle  class  respectable 
quarters  —  back  through  the  desert  silence  of  the  busi 
ness  district,  back  among  the  ever  crowding,  ever  noisy, 
ever  ailing  children  of  poor  food  and  darkness  and  bad 
air  —  back  to  Orchard  Street  and  Mamie's  home. 

"  Never  did  I  think  in  an  automobile  I  should  ride  up 
Fifth  Avenue.  Every  day  I  would  think  how  great  a 
pleasure  it  would  be." 

"  Mamie  —  it  isn't  so  much  fun  every  day.  It's  like 
operating  the  machine." 

It  was  a  week  later  that  Mildred  lunched  with  Ruth 
Ansel.  Ruth's  mother  was  out  and  the  little  maid 
brought  in  the  little  lunch  and  set  it  before  the  two  girls 
in  the  tiny  sun-lit  dining  room  of  the  apartment  over 
looking  Columbia  University. 

"  Do  you  like  it,  Ruth  —  the  scientific  management 
you're  studying?  "  Mildred  asked  wistfully. 

"  Oh,  I  love  it !  It's  like  making  a  great  machine  out 
of  people,  or  doing  an  experiment  in  physics  that's  got  to 
turn  out  according  to  the  law  —  if  you  only  know  the 
law!  It's  this  way:  you  take  a  machine  that  cuts  off 
pieces  of  iron  — 

And  Ruth  launched  into  a  careful  description  of  the 
joys  of  scientific  management  as  far  as  she'd  got  with  it. 
It  was  good  picturing  —  clear,  restrained,  thoughtful ; 
her  father,  the  professor  of  science,  would  have  been  grat 
ified,  even  proud  to  hear  her  —  but  Mildred's  attention 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  219 

slipped  gradually  away  and  though  she  continued  to  re 
gard  her  hostess  with  polite  attention,  still  there  was  no 
spontaneity  nor  lift  in  her  response.  Ruth  was  a  little 
slow  in  the  uptake,  as  was  natural  to  one  trained  in  the 
creed  that  knowledge  for  its  own  sake  would  inevitably 
awaken  interest,  but  at  last  she  stopped  short,  considered 
Mildred  critically,  and  asked : 

"What's  the  matter?" 

Mildred  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Ruth  —  I  seem  to  be  dread 
fully  stupid  to-day  —  I  didn't  get  much  sleep  last  night ; 
that  dance  at  the  Eltons'  didn't  begin  till  almost  mid 
night  —  and  I  —  " 

Her  voice  trailed  off  into  silence. 

Ruth  considered  her  soberly  as  though  she  were  an  im 
personal  problem  to  be  solved,  and  then  melting  into  a 
rather  rare  tenderness  put  her  hand  over  Mildred's  on  the 
table  edge. 

"What  is  it,  Mildred?" 

Mildred  started  to  draw  her  hand  away  in  defense  of 
her  reserve,  and  then  breaking  a  little,  turned  it  palm  up 
to  meet  Ruth's. 

"  I  guess  there's  nothing  the  matter  but  me  —  I  guess 
it's  because  I'm  a  fool  and  inadequate  and  everything. 
But  it  just  seems  to  me  that  I  can't  stand  it,  not  to  do  any 
thing  that's  worth  doing  or  that  anybody  needs  to  have  me 
do !  I  like  to  go  to  dances  and  the  theater  and  dinners  and 
things  —  only  I  don't  like  to  do  it  all  the  time.  There 
are  just  about  the  same  people  at  everything,  too,  and 
they're  all  so  much  alike  and  they  say  the  same  things  — 
Now  in  the  Service  everybody  was  a  good  deal  different 
from  everybody  else  —  it  was  quite  exciting  every  day 
doing  work  that  was  important  like  helping  to  grow 
crops." 


220  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

It  was  a  very  long  and  self -revealing  speech  for  Mil 
dred  Carver  to  make. 

"  I  suppose  they  want  you  to  marry  somebody,"  Ruth 
said  quite  impersonally. 

"  That's  the  way  everybody  acts,  though  of  course  they 
don't  say  so."  Mildred  was  quite  as  impersonal  as  Ruth, 
but  she  felt  her  color  rise.  If  Mamie  had  seen  Nick  kiss 
her  at  Christmas,  Ruth  might  well  have  seen  it  too.  And 
here  was  this  awful  humiliation  that  he  didn't  seem  to 
care  anything  about  her.  She  couldn't  let  Ruth  know 
that. 

"Well,  why  don't  you?" 

"  It's  so  awful  to  have  that  the  only  thing  expected  of 
me  —  and  there's  no  one  I  want  to  marry  anyway,  —  too 
old,  or  too  dull  or  something.  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
marry  just  to  get  out  of  the  way!  " 

"  I  don't  either,  Mildred.  I  wouldn't  stand  it  if  I 
were  you." 

"  What  would  you  do?  " 

There  was  a  little  mist  in  Mildred's  blue  eyes. 

"  I'd  tell  them  I  wouldn't  marry  till  I  wanted  to  —  and 
nobody  could  make  me." 

"  Well,  Ruth,  what  good  would  that  do  ?  Everything 
would  go  right  along  just  the  same." 

"Don't  let  it!" 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  say  '  don't  let  it '  but  what  can  I 
do?" 

"  You  might  go  out  and  get  a  job.  Go  to  work  doing 
something  that's  important.  Pretend  that  your  father 
hasn't  got  all  that  money  and  do  as  almost  everybody 
else  has  to  do  —  go  to  work !  " 

Mildred  looked  at  her  wide-eyed,  her  lips  a  little  apart. 

"How  could  I  find  something  to  do?"  she  asked 
breathlessly. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  221 

This  was  a  facer  for  them  both  —  at  last  Ruth  ven 
tured  : 

"  You  might  go  to  an  employment  agency." 

"  I  suppose  I  might !  "  Mildred  felt  a  little  catch  in  her 
throat  at  the  possibility,  and  then : 

"  It  would  be  pretty  awful  for  mother!  " 

"  Well  of  course  if  you're  going  to  be  sentimental  about 
it  you'll  just  let  yourself  be  married  to  somebody  you 
don't  care  anything  about  and  then  you'll  be  like  all  the 
prehistoric  women  that  never  did  anything  with  their 
lives.  Your  cousin  David  says  that  all  the  women  in 
your  family  always  do  what  is  expected  of  them  anyway 
—  he  says  you  — 

"David  Carver?" 

:<  Yes  —  I  —  I've  —  he's  been  here  several  times  since 
I  met  him  at  your  Christmas  party  —  I  —  Well,  Mildred, 
you've  got  to  break  away  from  it  all  and  be  something. 
Come  and  study  scientific  management  with  me  —  it's 
perfectly  fascinating!  And  you'd  be  surprised  how  im 
portant  it  is." 

"  Oh,  Ruth,  I  don't  care  anything  about  scientific  man 
agement!  That  wouldn't  help  at  all.  It  isn't  just  to 
find  something  to  do  —  I've  got  things  to  do  all  day  and 
all  night,  now." 

"  But  Mildred,  something  useful  —  " 

"I  know  —  that's  perfectly  all  right  —  but  I  want 
something  that  interests  me  —  something  I  want  to  do  — 
to  have  done !  And  useful  besides !  " 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know  —  exactly.  I'd  have  it  so  that  every 
body  in  the  world  can  have  all  they  want  to  eat  I  guess  — 
to  help  raise  things  or  grind  them  or  something  to  do 
with  them  anyway  —  I  don't  want  always  to  drive  a 
tractor  or  always  to  work  in  a  flour  mill  of  course  —  but 
something  I'm  interested  in." 


222  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  Well,  Mildred,  you're  a  perfect  fool  not  to  do  it  —  a 
perfect  fool!  You  haven't  got  to  stand  it  at  all.  It's 
your  life  you're  living,  not  your  father's  or  mother's.  It's 
your  own  work  you've  got  to  do !  Just  go  right  out  and 
do  it.  Nobody  can  stop  you !  " 

It  appeared  to  Mildred  as  she  thought  over  what  Ruth 
had  said,  that  there  wasn't  any  real  reason  why  she 
couldn't  do  as  she  liked,  shouldn't  at  least  try  the  kind  of 
life  that  she  wanted  to  live.  Nobody  could  stop  her,  of 
course.  Ruth  had  said  to  her  that  there  was  no  use  being 
rich,  and  popular  and  a  debutante,  if  you  were  just  in 
prison  all  the  time.  Ruth  thought  she  was  missing  all 
her  chances  —  standing  it  like  this.  And  besides,  what 
right  had  she  not  to  do  her  share  just  as  though  she  were 
a  soldier? 

"  What's  the  use  of  having  everything  if  it  doesn't  do 
you  any  good?  "  she  had  asked.  "  It's  awfully  corking 
to  learn  something  you  want  to  know,  the  way  I'm  doing, 
and  you  know  yourself  what  it's  like  to  work  —  and  you 
can't  do  any  of  it !  Why,  if  I  was  as  rich  as  your  people 
are,  I'd  work  all  I  wanted  to !  I'd  go  where  I  liked  and 
talk  with  whoever  I  chose  —  I  think  sometimes  rich 
people  are  perfect  fools." 

Mildred  sitting  quiescent  while  Henriette  coiled  her 
light  hair  with  the  elaborate  simplicity  appropriate  for 
the  debutante;  standing  dully  while  the  maid  slipped  the 
filmy  folds  of  her  gown  over  her  shoulders  so  that  she 
might  dine  with  people  she  didn't  care  for,  and  go  after 
ward  to  a  musical  comedy  in  which  she  hadn't  the  least 
interest,  kept  repeating  to  herself  Ruth's  words: 

"  Sometimes  rich  people  are  perfect  fools !  " 

At  the  dinner,  Apperson  Forbes  sat  beside  her,  watch 
ing  her  out  of  his  heavy  lidded  eyes  and  flatteringly 
monopolizing  her  attention.  He  made  this  monopoly 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  223 

tantamount  to  extreme  devotion,  and  carefully,  subtly,  he 
displayed  the  goods  he  had  to  offer. 

"  I'm  running  down  to  New  Orleans  for  the  races  next 
week  —  got  a  colt  entered  for  the  handicap.  I'd  like  to 
have  you  see  him  start.  Do  you  think  your  mother  would 
come  down  in  my  car  ?  We  could  ask  a  pleasant  party  — 
the  youngest  Townsend  and  Minnie  Martin,  and  Van 
Dorn's  back  —  got  his  divorce  last  week  —  and  there's 
that  young  English  actor,  Whitehall,  —  clever  fellow  — 
lots  of  amusing  stories.  And  perhaps  Alice  DuVal,  just 
to  give  it  snap  —  if  Mrs.  Carver  doesn't  object." 

Mildred  felt  herself  flush.  It  sounded  so  amusing,  so 
different  from  the  rather  subdued  gayety  countenanced  in 
the  breaking  in  of  the  young  women  of  the  Carvers. 
That  kind  of  thing  had  a  forbidden  charm,  she  wanted 
to  see  what  it  was  like,  the  possibility  excited  her,  but  she 
answered  soberly  enough : 

"  I'm  afraid  we've  got  a  pretty  full  week.  I  know 
mother  is  giving  two  dinners,  and  there's  the  Junior 
League  play,  I'm  to  have  a  part  in.  But  wouldn't  it  be 
fun  if  we  could  go!  " 

"It  would  be — fun  —  if  you  could  come  —  without 
having  to  consider  other  people  in  any  way." 

The  remark  was  half  a  question  but  Mildred  was  al 
ready  deft  enough  not  to  take  notice  of  that  fact. 

Apperson  Forbes  changed  the  basis  of  his  attack.  He 
was  in  no  sense  a  bird-like  person  to  flit  from  bough  to 
bough  —  he  was  simply  in  command  of  many  avenues  of 
approach. 

"  I  was  in  Tiffany's  the  other  day  —  they've  got  some 
new  things  made  by  this  Frenchman  that's  gone  in  for 
jewelry  —  Dunois,  isn't  it?  —  showed  me  some  of  those 
pale  blue  sapphires  set  into  a  collar  with  yellow  diamonds. 
Rather  splendid  thing.  Be  just  right  on  you  —  blue  and 


224  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

gold.  I  thought  I'd  buy  it  —  would  have  bought  it  if 
there'd  been  any  chance  of  it's  being  worn." 

His  intent  eyes,  trying  to  look  straight  into  Mildred's 
and  being  shut  out  by  the  protecting  droop  of  her  lashes, 
fixed  themselves  on  the  rose  white  of  her  young  shoul 
ders. 

Now  there  is  a  great  difference  between  being  finan 
cially  able  to  buy  jewels  and  actually  buying  them.  Mil 
dred's  ornaments  were  the  simplest  that  a  young  girl  with 
all  the  command  of  wealth  tempered  by  taste  could  ex 
pect.  Her  mother's  jewels  were  rich  and  sedate.  But 
this  collar  sounded  like  barbaric  splendor,  like  a  revolt 
against  limitations,  and  being  in  a  state  of  general  revolt 
anyway,  it  drew  her. 

"  It  must  be  wonderful !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"If  you'd  drop  in  there  —  to-morrow  perhaps?  —  I'd 
like  to  have  them  show  it  to  you  —  of  course  if  you  hap 
pened  to  like  it  —  " 

There  was  another  tentative  pause  as  his  sentence  died 
without  an  ending.  And  all  through  the  dinner,  and  at 
the  theater  afterward  when  he  drew  his  chair  close  behind 
hers  in  the  box,  there  was  the  persistent  suggestion  of  the 
kind  of  amusement  which  would  be  more  exciting  than 
the  stereotyped  social  life  of  the  debutante  which  was 
obviously  palling  upon  her.  And  Mildred,  rising  a  little 
to  the  talk,  as  to  something  easier  to  fill  her  life  with  than 
the  study  of  scientific  management  or  working  in  a  fac 
tory,  and  not  involving  any  heart-breaking  conflict  with 
her  family,  dimpled  and  blushed  and  laughed  in  her  little 
rising  scale,  and  found  the  comedy  not  so  dull  as  it  might 
have  been,  and  took  just  a  little  scared  enjoyment  in  the 
thinly  veiled  vulgarity  of  it,  and  came  home  to  lie  high 
against  her  pillows  with  a  half  determination  to  take  this 
way  of  spicing  the  flattening  flavor  of  life.  Nobody 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  225 

expected  her  to  do  anything  but  amuse  herself.  Nobody 
even  thought  about  her  working  for  the  country  because 
she  was  a  citizen  as  Mr.  Barton  was  working  in  the  flour 
mill.  It  was  perfectly  evident  that  Nick  didn't  care 
about  her.  She  hadn't  had  a  letter  from  him  for  two 
months  and  then  only  the  most  impersonal  sort  of  a  one 
about  nothing  in  particular.  She  took  her  thoughts  from 
Nick  and  put  them  back  on  Apperson  Forbes,  and  race 
horses,  and  people  who  were  said  to  be  very  good  fun  but 
whom  some  folks  would  rather  not  meet;  and  startling 
jeweled  collars.  And  then  drifting  to  the  man  himself 
and  those  long  slender  hands,  and  long  narrow  eyes. 
Suppose  it  had  been  he  out  on  the  veranda  at  Torexo  last 
year !  Suppose  his  arms  had  gone  round  her,  and  his  lips 
had  met  hers  —  and  — 

She  slid  down  from  her  pillows  and  pulled  the  coverlet 
over  her  head  as  though  she  were  afraid. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

I  WISH,"  said  Mildred  at  breakfast  one  morning, 
"  that  I  had  something  to  do !  "     Frank  looked 
over  the  top  of  his  paper;  Mary  stopped  with  an 
unopened  letter  in  her  hand ;  Wicks  standing  immovable 
beside  the  sideboard  jumped. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  somebody  complaining  recently 
that  she  never  had  any  time  to  herself." 

"  Oh,  Father  —  that  isn't  what  I  mean.  I  mean  work." 

"  I  should  think,  dear,  you'd  find  what  you're  doing  a 
good  deal  like  work  —  it  takes  all  day  and  most  of  the 
night." 

"  I  know  it  does,  Mother,  and  it  doesn't  amount  to  any 
thing  when  it's  done." 

"  What,"  said  Frank,  slowly,  "  do  you  want  to  do, 
daughter?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Father  —  not  exactly —  Ruth  Ansel  is 
going  to  be  scientific  manager  and  help  people  run  their 
mills;  and  Mamie  Epstein  is  in  a  shirtwaist  factory  and 
they've  made  her  shop  chairlady;  but  I  don't  want  to  be 
either  of  those  things  —  I  don't  think  I  could." 

"  But,  my  dear,  the  conditions  are  so  different !  Mamie 
Epstein  has  of  course  to  earn  her  living  —  and  I  suppose 
that  Professor  Ansel  wouldn't  be  able  to  provide  his 
daughter  with  an  adequate  income  either." 

"  Oh,  Mother,  I  don't  want  to  work  because  I  want 
money  —  I  want  to  work  because  I  like  it  —  it  interests 
me,  and  because  the  government  needs  me  to  help." 

226 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  227 

Mary  Carver  pointed  out  to  her  dissatisfied  daughter 
how  impractical  her  idea  was.  Would  it  not  make  it 
utterly  impossible  for  her  to  go  on  with  the  things  she  was 
doing  now?  And  would  any  sane  girl  give  up  these 
things  ? 

Mildred  listened  in  the  silence  of  a  slow  forming  de 
termination.  After  all,  nobody  could  make  her  keep  on 
with  it,  just  because  of  money !  She  didn't  have  to  spend 
her  life  doing  nothing  when  she  knew  she  ought  to  work. 
She  wouldn't  be  a  fool  in  the  sight  of  Ruth  Ansel  or  any 
body  else! 

And  so  she  began  surreptitiously  to  knock  at  the  doors 
of  industry.  She  didn't  know  just  how  to  go  about 
it.  The  advertisements  "  Help  Wanted  —  Female  "  in 
the  papers  were  mostly  for  nursemaids  or  stenographers 
or  some  one  to  do  specialized  work  that  she  didn't  under 
stand.  Besides  the  advertisements  seemed  to  be  for  girls 
who  were  obliged  to  think  first  about  earning  money  — 
not  about  doing  something  that  needed  to  be  done.  She 
had  followed  up  one  or  two  wrong  leads  —  a  sample 
clerk,  —  work  in  a  doctor's  office  which  proved  to  be 
opening  the  door  and  dusting  the  table,  —  an  indefinite 
job  in  Harlem  which  materialized  into  taking  tickets  at  a 
moving  picture  show.  All  these  discoveries  she  made 
without  letting  any  one  know.  If  the  chauffeur  and 
Wicks  wondered  at  the  strange  addresses  to  which  they 
drove  their  young  mistress,  no  gossip  from  them  ever 
crept  above  stairs.  And  then  she  advertised,  carefully 
modeling  her  advertisement  on  those  in  the  papers  and  got 
nothing  but  offers  of  work  as  a  clerk  or  an  office  girl  or  a 
"  learner  "  in  millinery.  And  she  wanted  to  really  make 
something  —  to  create !  —  to  do  work  that  was  public 
service.  After  two  discouraging  weeks  she  discovered 
the  Public  Employment  Agency. 


228  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Mildred  to  the  woman  at  the  desk, 
"  ever  worked  before  except  when  I  was  in  the  Service," 
and  she  held  out  her  "  honorable  discharge  "  card. 

"  I  see  —  you  made  a  good  record  —  but  it's  agricul 
ture.  Not  much  help  to  you  in  New  York  City.  Here's 
this  time  in  the  flour  mill  though  —  did  you  like  that  ? 
We  might  get  you  a  place  in  a  factory." 

The  woman  began  to  look  hastily  through  a  card  cata 
logue,  and  Mildred  had  a  quick  vision  of  Mamie  Epstein 
working  "  by  ladies'  waists." 

"  Not  in  a  factory  where  they  make  clothes,  if  you 
please  —  I'd  rather  not  sew." 

"Well,  I  don't  blame  you  —  I  hate  it  myself  —  only 
there's  more  girls  in  that  than  anything  else  in  the  city, 
and  since  the  Service  takes  so  many  out,  they're  always 
short  handed."  She  dipped  into  another  file.  "  How'd 
you  like  human  hair  or  paper  box  making?  I  could  place 
you  in  either  of  them." 

"I  —  I  —  will  you  tell  me  what  I'd  be  expected  to  do  ?" 

"  You'd  make  switches  and  wigs  and  all  sorts  of  fake 
hair  —  here's  a  place  in  Sixth  Avenue  wants  a  beginner 

—  they  pay  five  a  week  to  start.     It's  a  pretty  good  place, 
I  guess,  we  haven't  had  any  complaints  from  it  anyway." 

"  I  think  perhaps  the  box  making  —  " 

The  woman  filled  in  two  blanks  with  addresses  and 
pushed  them  toward  her.  "  Try  'em  both,"  she  said 
finally,  "  I  tell  you  what  it  is  though,  —  you're  a  nice 
clean  looking  girl  and  I  think  you'd  learn  easy  enough. 
If  you  want  a  place  as  waitress  or  chambermaid  in  a  pri 
vate  family  you  can  get  better  wages  than  anywhere  else 

—  if  you  want  to  do  it." 

Mildred  gasped  a  little  and  felt  herself  flushing. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  and  see  the  other  places  —  thank  you." 

"  Well  if  you  don't  get  either  of  these  come  back  and 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  229 

I'll  see  if  there  isn't  something  else.  I'm  sure  we  can 
place  you." 

Mildred  gave  the  address  to  Wicks  as  he  opened  the 
door  of  the  limousine  for  her.  It  turned  out  to  be  on 
Sixth  Avenue  not  a  mile  from  her  home  in  Washington 
Square.  She  climbed  two  flights  before  she  came  to  the 
office.  The  boss,  a  squat  man  in  shirt  sleeves,  took  her 
slip  and  seemed  glad  to  see  her. 

"  Ever  done  hair?  "  he  asked  her. 

Mildred  was  tempted  to  say  that  she  didn't  even  do  her 
own. 

"  Well,  it's  bad  you  ain't  had  the  experience  but  I  think 
we  take  you  as  a  learner.  You  can  come  up  to  the  work 
room  and  I'll  make  you  acquainted  with  the  forelady." 

He  preceded  her  through  the  door  and  up  two  flights 
of  dirty,  narrow  stairs. 

"Miss  Cavello  !  —  Say,  Miss  Cavello!"  he  called  at 
the  door  of  a  low  ceilinged,  dim  room.  A  thin,  worn 
woman  who  looked  like  an  Italian  came  from  the  far 
end. 

"  Here's  a  new  hand  I've  brought  you,  Miss  Cavello, — 
she's  green  yet  but  she  looks  bright.  Whadde  ye  say  to 
putting  her  on  the  rolls  ?  " 

"  There  ain't  no  place  in  there.  I  gottanough.  I'm 
short  of  weft  girls.  Only  it  ain't  so  easy." 

"  Well,  give  her  a  tryout." 

The  forelady  looked  Mildred  over  critically. 

"  You  can  come  and  see  the  work,"  she  said  and  led 
her  to  a  little  low  garret.  The  roof  sloped  over  the  win 
dows,  which  were  small  and  caked  with  dirt.  Above  each 
of  the  forty  girls  who  sat  on  either  side  of  the  long  tables 
was  a  green  shaded  gas  jet.  The  gas  seemed  to  have 
been  leaking  and  the  room  was  heavy  with  the  smell,  but 
the  windows  and  doors  were  tight  shut  lest  the  long  hanks 


230  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

of  hair  should  be  blown  about  the  room.  The  forelady 
showed  Mildred  a  seat  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  before 
a  wooden  frame  with  string  stretched  along  the  top.  On 
the  table  was  a  hank  of  brown  hair  held  in  place  by  a  large 
red  brick.  Miss  Cavello  showed  Mildred  how  to  bunch 
a  few  of  the  hairs  and  knot  them  into  the  string  close  to 
gether  until  a  fringe  was  formed. 

"  When  you  get  a  yard  done  you  give  it  to  the  '  finish 
ers  '  up  by  the  door  —  see  ?  " 

Mildred  looked  at  the  brown  hair  before  her  with  un 
speakable  distaste. 

She  was  trembling  and  a  little  sick  as  she  came  down 
the  long  stairs  to  the  office.  It  was  probably  important 
that  people  who  needed  them  had  wigs  —  consider  Aunt 
Millicent !  —  it  might  even  be  a  public  service  to  help 
make  them  but  Mildred  couldn't  feel  that  it  was  her  duty. 

"  You  can  come  tomorrow,"  the  boss  said  as  she  re- 
entered  the  office,  "  you  get  five  dollars  a  week  to  start. 
If  you  make  good  I  give  you  more  when  you  get  learned." 

"  That's  very  nice  of  you,"  she  stammered,  "  but  I 
think  I  had  better  not  try  it  —  it  isn't  exactly  what  I  was 
looking  for.  But  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged." 

"  Say,  whadde  you  think  you  can  get?  I  pay  my  help 
good !  You  get  steady  work  and  you  make  good  money 
when  you  get  on  wigs.  If  you  work  hard  maybe  I  give 
you  $5.50  after  only  one  week!" 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  but  I  think  I  won't  do  it." 

"  You  think  you  get  a  better  job.  Well,  that's  where 
you  make  the  grand  mistake!  When  you  change  your 
mind  you  come  back  and  I  take  you  on." 

The  box  factory  where  she  went  next  turned  out  to  be 
a  rickety  old  red  brick  building  in  the  tangle  of  Greenwich 
Village.  The  entrance  was  flanked  by  waiting  trucks, 
so  the  chauffeur  was  forced  to  stop  some  distance  away 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  231 

and  Mildred  walked  to  the  door.  A  man  in  shirtsleeves 
took  her  slip,  looked  her  over  carelessly  —  one  blue  serge 
suit  is  very  much  like  another  blue  serge  suit  to  the 
uninitiated. 

''Ever  worked  at  boxes?"  he  asked  briefly. 

"  No,  I  never  have." 

"  Finished  your  Service  year?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  through  in  October." 

"  What  you  been  working  at  since  then?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  working  at  all." 

"  All  right  —  I  guess  we  can  take  you  on  in  the  pasting; 
five-fifty  to  start.  Report  Monday  morning.  Eight  sharp." 

And  then  calling  toward  the  back  of  the  room : 

"  Hey!  Jim!  Got  those  invoices  ready?  Well,  bring 
'em  here,  can't  you?  " 

There  seemed  nothing  further  for  Mildred  to  do  but  to 
go  out  through  the  door,  past  the  trucks,  and  into  the 
limousine  again.  She  took  her  seat  trembling  a  little  — 
she  had  a  job!  She  was  going  to  work!  "Monday 
morning  at  eight  sharp."  It  was  quite  necessary  to  have 
paper  boxes.  It  was  a  useful  work  because  there  had  to 
be  something  to  put  things  into.  Though  of  course  it 
wasn't  so  important  as  growing  things  to  eat.  She 
looked  up  suddenly  to  find  herself  still  in  front  of  the 
box  factory  with  Wicks  standing  expectant. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  —  I  forgot !  Home  please !  " 
and  then  suddenly  on  the  impulse :  "  Wicks,  I've  got  a 
job." 

The  footman  started,  then  smiled  slowly  up  to  his  gay 
eyes : 

"  Thank  you,  miss,  —  I  hope  you  like  it.  I  thought 
you'd  be  doing  something  after  the  Service." 

And  touching  his  cap,  he  sprang  up  beside  the  chauf 
feur. 


232  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

Mildred  thought  of  it  exultantly  as  Henriette  coiled  her 
hair  afresh  and  brought  her  a  gold  and  white  dinner  dress, 
for  it  was  the  night  of  Mrs.  Carver's  weekly  dinner. 

"  The  decorations,  Mademoiselle  Mildred,  are  of  yel 
low.  Orchids  the  most  wonderful  from  the  gardener  at 
Torexo!  This  white  with  the  gold,  if  Mademoiselle 
pleases,  will  give  the  effect." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Henriette  —  it's  quite  all  right  —  it's 
very  clever  of  you  to  have  thought  of  it." 

After  dinner,  Apperson  Forbes  settled  himself  beside 
Mildred  at  the  coffee  table.  Mrs.  Carver  didn't  under 
stand  just  why  she  asked  him  so  frequently  —  perhaps 
because  he  was  so  obviously  glad  to  come.  And  then 
he  was  an  amusing  companion.  People  seemed  glad  to 
find  themselves  beside  him.  He  watched  the  girl's  strong, 
slender  hands  filling  the  cups  from  the  silver  urn  in  silence 
for  a  while  —  he  knew  how  to  make  a  silence  count  to 
ward  what  he  was  going  to  say. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  always  think  of  when  I  see  you 
at  this  coffee  table  —  and  I  come  to  watch  you  as  often  as 
Mrs.  Carver  will  ask  me?  " 

"  It  must  be  monotonous  if  you  always  think  the  same 
thing." 

During  the  moment  before  he  answered,  she  thought 
that  her  remark  was  unexpectedly  clever  and  was  pleased 
with  her  own  finesse. 

"  Not  if  it's  the  thing  I  want  to  think  of  all  the  time." 

Quick  recovery  on  Mildred's  part  and  right  about  face. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  to  think  the  same  thing  over  again 
and  again.  I've  just  decided  to  do  something  different." 

Waiting  for  his  reply  she  felt  reintrenched  behind  her 
indeterminate  declaration. 

"  What  have  you  decided  to  do  —  marry  ?  " 

There  was  an  uncontrollable  change  in  his  voice. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  233 

"  Oh,  not  that  —  I'm  going  to  work!  " 

The  man  settled  himself  into  the  relaxation  of  relief. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  want  to  see  what  it's  like,  but  I  should 
think  the  Universal  Service  would  have  given  you  enough 
already.  I  never  find  you  with  time  to  spare  for  me." 

"  But  all  this  doesn't  count  and  the  Service  was  just  a 
beginning.  I'm  going  to  really  work  on  something  nec 
essary  and  be  paid  for  it  —  five  dollars  and  a  half  a 
week." 

"  My  dear  girl,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

There  had  been  no  considering  pause  before  the  ques 
tion. 

"  I've  got  a  job  in  a  paper  box  factory  —  in  the  pasting 
department.  The  boss  told  me  to  begin  Monday  at  eight 
sharp." 

The  man  was  silent,  trying  to  recover  his  conversa 
tional  poise.  He  began  two  quite  unrelated  sentences 
and  stopped  them  both. 

"  Why  are  you  doing  this  —  will  you  tell  me  please  ?  " 
he  said  at  last. 

"  I  just  can't  stand  everything  being  so  dull !  Nothing 
happens  that's  different  from  anything  else,  —  nothing ! 
And  besides,  such  a  lot  of  things  need  to  have  somebody 
do  them !  And  I  feel  as  though  I  were  cheating  to  be  do 
ing  nothing  all  the  time." 

The  coffee  was  all  poured  now  and  the  room  was  full  of 
soft  talk.  Apperson  looked  hastily  about.  There  was 
no  seclusion  so  he  boldly  trusted  in  the  privacy  of  the 
crowd. 

"  Things  don't  have  to  be  dull !  They  don't  have  to  be 
always  the  same.  I  could  put  more  variety  into  your  life 
than  you  know  there  is  in  the  world.  You're  right  about 
too  much  of  this  sort  of  thing  getting  on  the  nerves.  But 
why  have  too  much  of  it.  Mildred,  let  me  show  you  how 


234  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

much  amusement  there  really  is  in  life  if  you  know  how 
to  get  it.  You  know  I  adore  you.  Marry  me  and  let  me 
give  you  the  real  good  time  you  ought  to  have.  Mildred 
—  darling  —  if  you  knew  how  I  worship  you!  " 

The  girl  rose  straight  out  of  her  low  seat  and  Apperson 
Forbes  rose  with  her,  almost  forgetful  of  the  people  about 
him  —  almost  forgetful  of  himself.  She  turned  a  little 
unsteadily  and  walked  toward  the  library,  then  as  a  sound 
of  light  laughter  stopped  her,  retraced  her  steps  and  sat 
down  at  the  table  again,  face  to  face  with  the  question  she 
had  settled  so  many  times ! 

No  one  seemed  to  have  noticed  them,  but  some  one  had. 
Old  Andrew  Carver  who  had  dropped  in  after  dinner, 
pattered  across  to  the  table. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you're  a  niece  for  an  uncle  to  be 
proud  of.  Have  you  coffee  there  for  me?  " 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Andrew  —  Uncle  Andrew!  "  the  emotion 
was  clear  in  her  voice.  "  But  I  thought  you  didn't  drink 
coffee  at  night?  " 

"  It  depends  on  the  provocation,"  the  old  man  pulled 
a  light  chair  forward  and  crossed  his  immaculate  trousers, 
so  perfect  that  it  seemed  impossible  for  anything  so 
human  as  legs  to  be  inside  them.  "  How  do,  Forbes. 
That  your  horse  won  the  Steeplechase  ?  Yes  —  yes  — 
thought  so!  Sounds  like  a  good  race.  I  don't  go  my 
self  but  I  keep  'em  in  mind  a  little." 

"  Uncle  Andrew,"  Mildred  began  breathlessly,  "  I've 
just  been  telling  Mr.  Forbes  that  I'm  going  to  work  —  in 
a  factory  —  making  paper  boxes !  " 

"Well,  that's  interesting.     When  do  you  start?" 

"  They  told  me  to  come  Monday  morning  at  eight 
sharp." 

His  matter  of  fact  tone  relieved  the  tension. 

Old  Andrew  stirred  his  coffee  absently. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  235 

"  It's  a  new  thing  to  me  —  thinking  of  a  niece  of  mine 
as  going  out  into  the  world  and  working  for  wages.  I 
have  to  get  adjusted  to  it.  But  then  I've  spent  all  my  life 
getting  adjusted  to  one  thing  after  another.  It's  the  way 
things  go  now,  that  all  our  girls  and  boys  should  work, 
and  as  for  me  I  don't  see  why  not.  We  seem  to  be  get 
ting  ready  to  try  out  democracy  a  little  further  and  I'm 
inclined  to  believe  it's  a  good  thing.  But  why  a  box  fac 
tory  in  particular,  my  dear?  Have  you  an  affinity  for 
boxes  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  care  any  more  about  boxes  than 
lots  of  other  things.  I  just  happened  to  get  a  job  there, 
and  boxes  are  useful  things  —  people  do  have  to  have 
them." 

"  Personally  I  see  no  inspiration  in  boxes.  But  some 
of  these  people  who  can  get  enthused  over  anything  might 
teach  me  better.  How  did  you  find  this  opening  of  a 
career?  I'm  sure  Mr.  Forbes  won't  mind  if  we  go  into 
this  a  little  further.  He'll  excuse  a  certain  family  inter 
est." 

So  Mildred  told  him  of  her  search  for  work,  and  how 
the  things  most  people  did  seemed  only  valuable  to  her 
because  they  could  earn  money  that  way.  And  how 
"  human  hair  "  and  domestic  service  and  moving  picture 
tickets  and  other  things  hadn't  appealed  to  her  as  what 
she  wanted  to  do.  Old  Andrew,  watching  Apperson 
Forbes  as  he  listened,  hoped  that  the  box  factory  at  eight 
sharp  was  enough  of  a  barrier. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MILDRED  at  "  eight  sharp  "  found  herself  con 
fronted  with  an  intricate  combination  of 
belts  and  rods  and  sliding  knives  and  levers 
not  in  the  least  resembling  either  the  machinery  of  the 
flour  mill  or  the  internal  workings  of  a  farm  tractor, 
From  the  other  side  of  this  machine  a  pale,  blond  girl  of 
not  more  than  sixteen  began  to  feed  a  seemingly  endless 
strip  of  thick  gray  paper  in  between  two  rollers.  She 
threw  back  a  lever  and  out  toward  Mildred  moved  a  suc 
cession  of  little  tack  boxes  —  freshly  pasted  and  all  done 
except  that  the  flaps  at  the  bottom  were  not  dovetailed 
together. 

"  What  do  I  do  with  them?  "  Mildred  screamed  above 
the  sound  of  the  machine  to  the  pale  girl  opposite. 

The  girl  stopped  the  machine  with  a  jerk. 

"  Ain't  you  ever  done  ends  ?  "  she  asked  scornfully. 

The  foreman  came  and  showed  her  how  to  dovetail 
together  the  ends  of  the  boxes  and  then  patting  her  on 
the  shoulder  told  her  to  "  go  ahead,  dearie!  " 

The  young  girl  watched  her  impatiently  as  she  fitted 
the  first  boxes  slowly  together.  "  Say,  get  a  move  on  —  I 
gotta  get  busy." 

When  Mildred  had  got  the  pile  in  front  of  her  some 
what  reduced  the  girl  started  the  lever  and  the  little  boxes 
began  to  move  toward  her  again.  Mildred  did  not  find 
it  difficult  work  after  she  got  the  knack  of  it.  There 
was  plenty  of  light  and  air  and  she  didn't  seriously  ob- 

236 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  237 

ject  to  the  smell  of  the  glue.  The  stool  on  which  she  sat 
was  the  proper  height  and  there  was  a  rest  for  her  feet. 
But  the  speed  and  continuity  with  which  the  machine 
emitted  tack  boxes  was  incredible!  Box  after  box  in  a 
stream  that  she  could  not  dam  they  moved  toward  her  — 
box  after  box !  box  after  box !  They  would  pile  up  be 
fore  her  and  by  a  spurt  of  speed  she  would  catch  up  a 
little  on  them.  But  the  moment  she  relaxed,  they  began 
to  accumulate  again.  There  was  no  getting  ahead  and 
having  a  moment  of  leisure  for  the  machine  could  no 
more  be  hurried  than  it  could  be  retarded  —  steadily,  re 
lentlessly  for  eight  hours  a  day  it  turned  out  tack  boxes 
of  exactly  the  same  size  and  color  and  at  exactly  the  same 
rate  —  and  for  eight  hours  a  day  Mildred  Carver  sat 
dovetailing  the  bottoms  of  them ! 

After  the  first  day  she  brought  her  lunch  as  the  other 
girls  did  for  the  half  hour  allowed  them  was  not  long 
enough  for  her  to  go  home  and  back. 

"  Oh  gee,"  said  the  pale  child  opposite  Mildred,  pulling 
down  the  lever  and  throwing  up  her  arms  as  the  noon 
whistle  blew,  "  Gee,  don't  I  wish  it  was  Saturday  instead 
of  Monday!  " 

"  Why?  "  asked  Mildred  innocently. 

"  Why  ?  Wouldn't  I  have  my  work  done  and  my  pay 
coming  to  me?  Ain't  I  got  all  the  work  between  now 
and  Saturday  to  do  yet  before  I  get  it?  " 

"  But  don't  you  want  to  work  ?  " 

"You  bettcha  life  I  do!  —  I  gotta  hold  my  job  until 
they  take  me  into  the  Universal  Service  cause  the  old 
man's  on  the  drunk  most  of  the  time." 

They  were  eating  their  lunches  now,  all  the  girls  in  the 
factory  standing  and  sitting  about  in  a  little  space  outside 
the  washroom.  Such  meagre  little  lunches,  most  of  them 
seemed  to  Mildred,  and  so  unappetizing ! 


238  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Say,  was  you  in  the  Service?  "  asked  another  young 
girl  of  Mildred  —  "  You  look  like  you  might  of  been  - 
that  old !  " 

"  I  finished  last  October." 

There  was  silence  among  the  girls. 

"What  did  you  work  at?"  A  tired,  middle-aged 
woman  had  asked  the  question. 

"  I  worked  in  Agriculture  —  on  farms  you  know." 

A  dark  Italian  turned  to  a  staring  companion  and 
translated,  and  Mildred  quite  unthinking  joined  in  their 
talk.  She  flushed  when  she  saw  the  others  staring. 

'  You  don't  look  like  a  Guinney,"  commented  her  com 
panion  on  the  machine. 

"I'm  an  American  —  only  I  learned  Italian  when  I 
was  little." 

There  were  a  number  of  these  immigrant  girls  who  had 
come  to  America  when  they  were  just  past  the  draft  age; 
about  a  third  of  the  workers  were  girls  between  sixteen 
and  eighteen  —  sure  to  be  drafted ;  the  others  were 
older  women  who  had  been  more  than  eighteen  when  the 
Universal  Service  was  established.  All  of  them  looked 
on  Mildred  with  considerable  wonder.  Why  should  a 
girl  who  had  been  in  the  Service  go  into  box  making  ? 

"Well,  why  would  you  be  makin'  boxes,  then?"  an 
elderly  Irish  woman  answered  her  query.  '  You  that's 
had  the  grand  chance  getting  a  starut  on  a  real  job! 
There  ain't  nothin'  to  it!  I  been  pasting  boxes  twenty 
years  —  there  ain't  a  girl  in  the  trade's  quicker  at  it  - 
an'  where  am  I  now?  Just  ready  to  paste  boxes  for 
twenty  years  more  if  I  got  the  strenth!  Would  I  be 
doin'  that  if  I  had  a  chanst  to  hold  down  a  grand  job  in 
the  Service  ?  " 

"  But  people  need  boxes  —  things  have  to  be  put  into 
something!  "  objected  Mildred. 


MILDRED  CARVER,   U.   S.   A.  239 

"Do  they  now!  Well  if  makin'  boxes  is  that  cruel 
hard  on  them  that  makes  'em,  ain't  it  up  to  somebody  to 
find  somethin'  else  to  put  things  into  ?  There's  the  clom 
whistle  again !  I  gotta  start  putting  them  miles  of  paper 
sthrips  over  the  tops  av  them  thousand  boxes !  And  do  I 
get  enough  out  av  it  to  dress  dacent  and  lay  by  something 
for  me  funeral  ?  Oi  do  not !  " 

This  was  the  nearest  to  a  philosophy  of  work  that  the 
box  factory  yielded,  —  the  idea  that  if  the  work  of  mak 
ing  anything  was  "  cruel  hard  "  on  the  workers,  then  it 
was  "up  to  somebody  "  to  find  a  substitute.  This  was 
discouraging  to  Mildred !  Here  she  had  gone  to  work 
because  she  thought  it  was  her  duty  to  help  make  some 
thing  that  people  had  to  have  —  and  now  she  had  dis 
covered  that  in  the  particular  thing  she  had  chosen  it  was 
more  important  to  find  out  either  how  to  make  it  a  good 
thing  for  girls  to  work  in,  —  or  how  to  do  away  with  box- 
making  altogether.  Just  folding  in  the  bottoms  of  tack 
boxes  for  eight  hours  a  day  wasn't  helping  much. 

One  noon  when  she  and  her  machine  partner  had  gone 
into  the  street  for  a  breath  of  air  they  found  themselves 
walking  just  ahead  of  another  of  the  young  girls  whose 
arm  Mr.  Jake  Fisher  was  affectionately  holding  as  they 
strolled  back  and  forth. 

"  Oh  gee,"  said  the  child  giggling,  "  don't  I  wish  I 
could  believe  you  but  I  ain't  got  the  noive !  " 

"  It's  just  like  I  tell  you,  dearie.  You  ain't  gotta  keep 
on  workin'  if  you  drather  not  —  see?  Leave  it  to  me !  " 

And  when  they  had  turned  at  the  corner  and  were 
passing  again,  the  man  said  : 

"  An'  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  jobs  in  box  makin'  much 
longer  anyway.  I  been  talkin'  with  a  feller's  got  a  new 
process.  You  take  the  stuff  paper's  made  of  while  it's 
soft  and  sort  of  pour  it  out  into  a  mold  that's  the  right 


240  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

shape,  —  cover  and  all, —  and  when  it  gets  dry  it's  a  box. 
There  ain't  no  cutting,  nor  pasting,  nor  folding  left  for 
anybody  to  do.  So  if  you  don't  quit  your  job  like  I'm 
asking  you  to,  it's  going  to  quit  you  —  see  ?  Only  keep 
it  dark." 

So  here  was  the  solution  of  this  part  of  the  problem 
anyway  —  the  whole  of  this  "  cruel  hard  "  work  was  to 
be  done  away  with.  There  would  be  things  to  put 
things  in  without  her  doing  anything  about  it,  and  no 
public  service  in  her  keeping  on.  So  at  the  end  of  the 
week  Mr.  Jake  Fisher  received  a  carefully  written  note 
with  the  number  at  Washington  Square  North  engraved 
at  the  top. 
"  My  dear  Mr.  Fisher : 

"  I  have  decided  to  resign  my  position  in  the  pasting 
department  of  your  box  making  factory.  I  think  I  should 
prefer  to  do  some  work  which  is  really  necessary.  It 
was  very  kind  of  you  to  give  me  the  position  and  I  hope 
my  leaving  will  not  inconvenience  you. 
"  Very  sincerely, 

"MILDRED  CARVER. 

"  Saturday  the  tenth." 

Jake  Fisher  carried  the  letter  over  to  the  dirty  window 
and  reread  it. 

"  Well,  whadde  ye  think  of  that !  What's  the  game 
anyway  ?  "  he  ejaculated.  "  And  she  was  getting  five 
fifty  a  week,  too !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MILDRED  felt  herself  caught  again  in  the 
trap.  Here  were  cards  for  teas,  and  invita 
tions  to  dinner,  and  to  dances;  and  theaters 
to  go  to  and  lovely  music  to  hear  and  beautiful  pictures 
to  see,  and  costly  clothes  to  wear  —  all  the  sweets  of  life 
but  no  bread !  Balanced  against  them  was  the  making  of 
tack  boxes,  or  human  hair  or  some  other  occupation  which 
she  could  not  see  as  a  public  service  but  only  as  a  means 
of  earning  money.  How  was  she  going  to  give  her  coun 
try  the  service  due  from  a  loyal  citizen?  How  was  she 
going  to  help  in  some  work  essential  to  the  nation  ?  The 
sense  of  frustration  grew;  and  the  temptation  to  stop 
trying  and  go  in  for  the  things  she  knew  she  could  have, — 
perpetual,  hectic  amusement,  —  and  Apperson  Forbes !  — 
almost  overwhelmed  her. 

And  then  one  day  when  she  was  particularly  blue,  came 
Waddell,  still,  swift,  dignified  in  his  obsequious  serving, 
to  say  that  a  Mr.  Barton  wished  to  see  Miss  Carver.  The 
gentleman  had  no  card.  Was  Miss  Carver  in  ? 

Mrs.  Carver  was  quite  uncomprehending  until  Mildred 
reminded  her  softly : 

"  She  is  in,  Waddell,"  she  answered  after  an  irresolute 
pause. 

Following  her  mother  down  to  the  drawing  room  Mil 
dred  was  conscious  that  her  heart  was  riding  so  high  in 
her  breast  as  to  interfere  with  the  processes  of  respira 
tion.  She  had  had  occasional  letters  from  John  Barton 
—  carefully  written  letters  telling  about  the  work  in  the 
E  241 


242  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

mill  and  its  relation  to  the  great  work  of  feeding  the  coun 
try  —  letters  which  were  a  distinct  compliment  to  her 
intelligence  but  which  had  evidently  been  produced  with 
considerable  effort,  rather  than  dashed  off  as  spon 
taneous  ebullitions  of  emotion.  They  were,  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  high  school,  almost  literary.  There  had 
not  been  anything  of  real  love-making  in  them,  but  he  had 
said  repeatedly  that  he  would  be  in  New  York,  and  there 
was  in  her  a  growing  sensitiveness  to  emotional  atmos 
pheric  pressure,  which  revealed  the  unsaid. 

John  Barton  was  seated  serenely  in  the  drawing  room 
looking  out  upon  bare,  brown  Washington  Square.  It  is 
doubtful  if  the  quiet  curtains,  the  dim  Persian  rugs,  the 
graceful  old  furniture  seemed  so  magnificent  to  him  as 
crimson  plush,  satin  damask  and  more  gilt.  At  the  soft 
click  of  the  curtain  rings,  he  rose,  his  face  shining,  — 
only  to  have  it  fall  ludicrously  at  the  sight  of  Mrs.  Carver. 
He  hadn't  asked  for  her !  He  had  never  called  on  a  mar 
ried  woman  in  his  life  —  there  must  have  been  a  mistake ! 
But  Mildred  followed  her  mother  before  he  could  fall 
into  the  error  of  trying  to  explain. 

The  call  was  evidently  not  satisfactory  to  John  Barton, 
and  Mildred  in  a  French  gown  looked  quite  a  different 
person  from  Mildred  in  a  khaki  uniform.  Neither  did 
Mary  Carver,  though  irreproachably  courteous,  conduce 
to  his  conversational  ease.  But  after  a  few  moments  he 
gathered  his  determination  together  and  asked  Mildred 
to  go  walking  with  him  just  as  though  they  were  in  some 
little  New  England  town.  Had  he  come  all  the  way  from 
Minnesota  to  talk  with  Mildred's  mother?  And  the  girl, 
reverting  suddenly  to  the  unconventional  independence  of 
the  Service,  forgetting  that  she  was  a  society  bud,  almost 
forgetting  that  she  had  a  mother,  jumped  up  delightedly 
and  ran  for  her  coat  and  hat. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  243 

Mrs.  Carver  felt  herself  helpless.  Obviously  Mildred 
was  no  longer  a  carefully  guarded  American  Princess, 
unceremoniously  approached  by  a  member  of  the  prole 
tariat,  but  a  humble  private  being  honored  by  the  notice 
of  a  superior  officer.  It  was  a  revival  of  the  part  of  her 
daughter's  life  in  which  she  had  no  authority,  no  respon 
sibility. 

"Haven't  you  a  park  somewhere?  Central  Park  or 
some  name  like  that?  "  John  Barton  asked  when  they  had 
turned  up  Fifth  Avenue. 

"  It's  ever  so  far  up,"  Mildred  objected. 

"  Isn't  there  a  way  to  ride  there?  " 

They  took  a  bus,  lumbering  like  a  green  buffalo  and  sat 
shoulder  to  shoulder  on  the  top  of  it.  Mildred  tried  to 
interest  him  in  the  famous  thoroughfare  but  he  had  never 
been  so  near  her  before  and  couldn't  fix  his  attention  on 
anything  but  her  personal  loveliness.  To  him,  the  trim 
coat,  the  exquisite  little  hat,  the  rich  furs,  appealed  not  in 
terms  of  elegance  or  cost,  but  as  part  of  the  girl's  beauty. 

And  when  they  reached  the  Park  and  had  followed  one 
of  its  curving  walks  into  the  seclusion  of  mid-afternoon, 
broken  only  by  children  and  nurse  maids,  John  Barton 
spoke  quite  suddenly  and  with  awkward  sincerity.  There 
was  no  pretence  of  altruism  in  it,  no  attempt  to  make  it 
anything  but  his  wish  as  a  man  for  her  as  his  wife.  But 
to  Mildred  the  romance  of  the  work  of  giving  bread  to 
the  nation  still  hung  around  him ;  he  personified  the  great 
est  experience  of  her  life;  he  seemed  to  stand  on  a  little 
hill  and  hold  out  to  her  her  chance  of  service  and  patriot 
ism.  She  did  not  think  of  her  parents  or  Apperson 
Forbes.  She  did  not  even  think  of  Nick  Van  Arsdale. 
She  did  not  think  of  John  Barton  as  a  man,  but  as  a  very 
big,  very  impersonal  force  that  would  make  all  the  rest 
of  her  life  a  service  of  citizenship.  And  trembling  she 
reached  out  both  her  hands. 


244  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  And  so  I  told  him  that  I  would  be  very  proud  and 
very  glad  to  be  his  wife." 

Mildred  had  come  back  to  the  house  alone  and  found 
her  father  and  mother  in  the  library.  Something  told 
her  that  it  would  be  best  for  her  to  tell  them  what  she  had 
done  before  John  Barton  came  to  ask  them  quite  formally 
in  the  morning.  And  now  as  she  looked  into  their 
stricken  faces  she  knew  she  had  been  wise. 

It  came  into  her  mind  as  she  stood  there,  how  much 
better  Nick  had  told  them  a  similar  story  —  now  so  long 
ago.  She  faltered  and  stopped  as  she  remembered  it,  and 
then  went  resolutely  on. 

Mary  and  Frank  didn't  dare  look  at  each  other  when 
she  had  done.  They  hardly  dared  speak.  The  silence 
didn't  break  in  a  storm ;  that  was  not  the  Carver  reaction 
in  emergencies.  There  was  rather  a  tangible  heaving  and 
resettling  of  the  basis  of  thought.  And  even  then  they 
didn't  say  much,  so  great  was  their  fear  of  saying  the 
wrong  thing  —  the  irrevocable  thing.  They  had  had 
their  warnings,  but  their  class  security  had  kept  them 
blind;  neither  of  them  had  been  able  to  take  the  menace 
seriously.  Now  the  thing  they  thought  impossible  had 
happened.  Still  it  was  a  question  of  gentle  argument,  of 
reasons  and  persuasions  and  tenderness. 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  love  him,  Mildred?"  her 
mother  had  asked  sadly  and  got  the  counter  question : 

"How  could  I  help  it?" 

Mary  Carver  thanked  God  that  she  and  Frank  had  an 
engagement  that  evening.  She  felt  that  she  must  get  a 
chance  to  talk  with  him  alone  and  lay  down  a  plan  of  cam 
paign. 

"  Very  slowly,  Ellis,"  she  said  as  she  entered  the 
limousine  —  and  after  the  door  was  shut :  "  Frank  — 
Frank  —  what  are  we  going  to  do  ?  " 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  245 

"I  —  I  don't  know,  Mary  —  but  we've  got  to  do  some 
thing —  we  can't  very  well  let  it  go  on." 

"  Oh,  that  such  a  thing  should  happen  to  us !  I  was 
sorry  enough  when  Francis'  boy  married  that  little  school 
teacher  from  Montana  —  and  when  the  Nortons'  eldest 
girl  married  that  Frenchman,  who  wasn't  anything  in  the 
world  but  a  traveling  salesman,  even  if  he  was  a  count. 
But  those  are  nothing  compared  to  this  —  a  workman, 
Frank !  A  foreman  in  a  mill !  " 

"  It's  pretty  bad,  my  dear.  We've  got  to  stop  it  some 
how,  for  all  I  think  he's  a  fine  fellow." 

"  A  fine  fellow  —  to  try  and  entrap  a  girl  like  that?  " 

"  Oh,  Mary,  I  don't  think  there's  any  entrapping  about 
it.  He  quite  evidently  didn't  know  anything  about  us 
when  I  saw  him  in  Minneapolis.  Don't  you  remember 
that  I  told  you  he  asked  what  my  job  was  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  Frank  —  besides  now  that  he's 
been  here !  " 

"  Well  —  there's  the  fact  that  he's  never  been  in  New 
York  before.  To  live  in  a  red  brick  house  in  a  block 
without  any  grounds  wouldn't  betoken  riches  to  a  man  in 
whose  home  town  every  one  but  the  very  poorest  had 
grass  and  a  garden." 

"  Oh,  Frank,  he  must  know !  " 

"  I  think  not.  But  if  he  does  we're  in  a  much  more 
difficult  position  than  if  he  doesn't  —  we've  one  weapon 
the  less." 

The  chauffeur  at  last  set  them  down  at  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Agatha  Porter,  which  as  everybody  knows  is  a  very 
old  house  on  upper  Fifth  Avenue  where  most  of  the 
houses  are  new.  Mrs.  Porter  is  a  great  lady  —  so  great 
that  she  need  not  consider  such  things  as  social  lines  or 
levels.  So  very  great  that  even  the  intellectuals  come  to 


246  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

her,  and  the  great  artists  and  writers  and  actors ;  and  the 
little  ones  too,  when  they  can  get  a  chance,  never  turn  up 
their  hungry  little  noses  and  call  her  bourgeoise.  So 
great,  indeed,  that  even  labor  leaders  and  socialists  and 
anarchists  who  are  not  at  all  philosophical,  and  all  sorts 
of  other  real  people  never  even  try  to  look  down  upon  her, 
but  come  quite  humbly  to  the  wonderful  parties  that 
have  made  her  famous  in  that  new  aristocracy  which  has 
been  slowly  circling  the  globe  since  the  old  one,  based 
merely  on  descent  and  position  and  money,  went  down 
under  the  terrible  blows  of  the  war.  And  a  thin  trickle 
of  the  culture  of  the  Orient  that  is  seeping  into  the  newer 
world  eddies  into  this  great  house ;  and  little  yellow  men 
with  a  sense  of  humor  quite  different  from  ours;  and 
brown  indefinite  gentlemen  from  the  Levant  with  wit 
like  a  serpent's  tooth ;  and  tall  dark  people  from  the  high 
castes  of  free  India  with  no  sense  of  humor  at  all  —  are 
to  be  met  in  this  hospitably  democratic  and  rigidly  ex 
clusive  house,  famous  now,  wherever  the  new  basis  of 
social  intercourse  is  establishing  itself. 

Tonight  there  was  to  be  music  —  such  music  as  is  not 
to  be  had  for  the  asking  or  for  money,  but  only  for  love. 
They  were  met  at  the  door  of  the  drawing  room  by  the 
wonderful  little  great  lady  whose  creation  this  special 
manifestation  of  Democracy  is.  Agatha  Porter's  gray 
hair  was  piled  high  in  the  latest  mode,  her  clothes  were 
lovely  and  smart  as  of  one  who  gives  herself  the  luxury 
of  following  the  fashions;  her  eyes  were  full  of  the  beau 
tiful  sincerity  and  generous  sweetness  that  transforms 
her  guests  into  their  super-selves  by  some  magic  of  the 
moment,  so  that  the  train  of  people  who  come  and  go  in 
her  house  are  always  a  little  better  than  their  best  through 
her,  and  thereby  happy  and  anxious  to  come  again.  Even 
Mary  and  Frank  felt  themselves  lightened  of  their  trouble 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  247 

as  they  took  Agatha  Porter's  hand  and  passed  into  her 
drawing  room. 

And  there  just  inside  the  door  where  he  could  pursue 
his  favorite  occupation  of  watching  people  and  their 
ways  —  and  most  particularly  Mrs.  Porter  and  all  her 
little  looks  and  gestures,  stood  Andrew  Carver.  No  one 
of  Mrs.  Porter's  gatherings  but  Old  Andrew  held  much 
the  same  place;  and  he  had  held  it  since  out  of  the  tragedy 
of  the  great  war,  this  new  social  order  began  to  rise.  For 
there  were  those  who  said  that  even  Old  Andrew  was  a 
little  better  than  his  best  in  that  house,  and  that  if  he  had 
found  his  way  there  a  generation  earlier  —  if  indeed  there 
had  been  such  a  place  then,  or  such  a  democracy  to  foster 
it  —  he  would  not  have  been  the  lonely  exquisite  he  was, 
but  a  real  man  in  a  real  world. 

Mary  and  Frank  had  no  more  than  time  to  greet  their 
kinsman  when  there  was  a  great  swell  of  sound  from  the 
violins,  and  in  the  sudden  stopping  of  the  talk  a  voice 
caught  the  very  top  of  the  note  and  poured  out  what 
might  have  been  the  essence  of  all  the  songs  that  all  the 
milk-maids  ever  sang  —  only  much  truer  and  sweeter  and 
far  more  simple  than  any  real  milk-maid's  song  ever  was 
because  the  singer  had  gone  clear  through  the  trammels 
art  sets  and  come  out  on  the  other  side.  And  when  this 
liquid  song  stopped  as  naturally  as  though  the  particular 
emotion  that  had  induced  it  was  gone,  you  realized  how 
Amaryllis  must  have  sung  to  herself  by  the  river  and  were 
carried  back  to  the  times  of  the  Fauns  and  Dryads  and 
such  innocence  as  never  was. 

"  But,"  Mary  said  to  Frank  as  they  moved  forward 
after  the  song,  "  we  have  put  all  that  out  of  the  world  now 
to  make  way  for  —  work!" 

"  Now  does  that  mean  the  girl  is  a  little  hard  to  break 
into  harness  ?  "  Old  Andrew  twinkled  at  her.  "  I  thought 
she  would  be  —  I  thought  so." 


248  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

Mary  was  just  answering  him  when  Mrs.  West  broke 
in: 

"  What  are  we  to  do  with  our  young  people,  Mrs. 
Carver?  Have  you  heard  that  Nannie  Wintermute  has 
run  away  from  home  to  be  —  of  all  things!  —  the  ad 
vance  agent  for  a  public  educational  lecture  bureau !  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear !  What  will  they  do  —  with  Arthur's 
death  and  everything !  " 

"  Now  you  must  be  talking  of  the  Service  girls  I  think," 
said  Lady  Nieth.  "It  is  the  strangest  thing  to  see  your 
debutantes  this  season !  When  I  used  to  be  in  and  out  of 
New  York  before  the  war,  the  girls  were  a  docile  lot, 
playing  about  as  they  were  told,  and  marrying  as  duti 
fully  as  a  collie  goes  to  heel.  But  now !  —  why  they 
marry  anybody,  or  nobody,  as  they  choose  —  and  they  go 
about  as  though  they  were  anxious  to  get  out  on  bail !  I 
think  we  manage  them  better  in  England,  without  the  in 
terference  of  the  government  at  the  critical  time." 

"  Have  you  heard  that  young  Hope  has  married  a 
Mexican  girl  he  met  in  Texas  when  he  was  serving  in  the 
mines  ?  We're  more  or  less  used  to  pretty  girls  from  the 
stage,  and  even  to  these  brilliant  young  Russian  Jewesses 
from  the  East  Side  —  but  Mexicans  are  new.  So  there's 
one  less  man  for  our  girls  —  and  the  crop  short,  too!  " 

At  the  door  of  the  smoking  room  two  keen-eyed  busi 
ness  men  greeted  each  other. 

"  I  hear  you've  put  the  Talbot  boy  in  as  manager  of  the 
up-state  cannery?  What's  that  for?  " 

"  Had  to  do  it,  old  man  —  had  to  do  it!  One  strike 
after  another,  and  the  Union  organizers  hammering  away 
at  Albany  to  get  more  laws  passed  against  us  every  time 
there  was  trouble.  Old  Waldron  couldn't  seem  to  get 
used  to  the  idea  that  you  could  run  a  factory  and  make 
money  and  be  good  friends  with  the  hands  at  the  same 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  249 

time.  He'd  never  been  any  nearer  doing  factory  work 
himself  than  keeping  the  books.  So  we  just  sent  him  out 
to  California  to  enjoy  the  climate,  and  put  in  Talbot.  He 
did  his  Service  year  in  the  shipyards.  First  thing  he  did 
was  to  get  the  men  together  and  ask  them  how  they 
wanted  the  place  run.  Put  it  up  to  them." 

"  Does  he  make  it  pay  ?  " 

"  So  far  he  has.  He  sees  to  it  that  there's  nothing  to 
strike  for  and  so  the  work  isn't  interrupted  the  way  it 
used  to  be." 

'  The  new  point  of  view  —  induced  I  suppose  by  the 
fact  that  every  one  of  these  young  fellows  have  done 
work  themselves  —  certainly  does  hit  up  production." 

;'  Yes,  they  take  it  as  a  patriotic  duty  to  turn  out  more 
cans  of  corn  and  peas  per  man  per  day,  and  to  pay  higher 
wages  and  work  shorter  hours  and  sell  at  a  lower  price 
than  the  next  factory  —  and  so  far  young  Talbot' s  doing 
it." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  get  across  with  it  myself,  but 
the  facts  bear  them  out  —  so  far." 

It  was  a  wonderful  mingling.  Money  magnates  chat 
ted  with  leaders  of  East  Side  women's  organizations  — 
famous  painters  ate  ices  with  oriental  diplomats,  and  so 
ciety  women  and  city  politicians  and  soldiers  and  inven 
tors  ceaselessly  wove  together  the  fabric  of  such  a  real 
society  as  the  world  had  never  before  known. 

But  tonight  Mary  could  not  feel  herself  a  part  of  it  — 
she  was  too  rebellious  at  what  the  underlying  principle  of 
it  all  had  dealt  out  to  her  personally. 

"  Let  us  go  home,  Frank  —  Agatha  Porter  has  so  many 
she  will  not  notice." 

"  And  all  I  can  think  to  do,  Frank,  is  to  keep  him  here, 
and  take  him  about  with  us  everywhere,  and  let  Mildred 


250  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.   A. 

see  how  perfectly  impossible  it  is  —  Of  course,  we  could 
get  him  into  something,  I  suppose  — 

"  Yes,  keep  him  here,  Mary.  Take  him  about  all  you 
can  —  we  may  do  it  that  way.  But  if  you  succeed,  I 
think  it  will  be  by  showing  him  that  Mildred  doesn't  fit 
into  his  world  rather  than  by  showing  her  that  he  is  out  of 
place  in  hers !  And  Mary,  don't  bring  him  to  Agatha 
Porter's  —  that  is  where  he  would  be  happy  and  at  home. 
If  he  thought  there  were  more  houses  like  that  — 

"  There  aren't,  Frank.  And  —  I  guess  you  are  right 
about  keeping  him  away." 

They  both  agreed,  and  that  without  saying  it,  that  their 
one  chance  was  to  outwardly  acquiesce  and  play  for  time. 

"  Do  you  realize,  Frank,"  said  Mary  suddenly,  "  that 
none  of  us  has  even  mentioned  Nick  Van  Arsdale  ?  Oh ! 
if  it  were  only  he!  " 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  they  were  at  their  own  door  again, 
"that  I'd  feel  right  about  it  even  if  it  were.  After  all, 
Mary,  our  daughter  isn't  like  the  girls  of  twenty  years 
ago  —  and  she's  in  a  different  world.  She's  better  able 
to  choose  than  you  were  at  her  age  —  even  if  I  have  no 
fault  to  find  with  your  decision,  my  dear." 

Mrs.  Carver,  lying  sleepless  as  the  gray  dawn  came  in, 
was  marshaling  her  forces  and  planning  her  campaign! 
Mildred  should  not  marry  John  Barton  —  that  was  her 
starting  point  and  the  end  of  her  argument.  In  between 
were  her  possible  defenses,  the  chief  and  perfect  one 
would  be  Nick  Van  Arsdale,  if  he  were  only  at  hand  to  be 
utilized.  Well,  why  shouldn't  he  be?  Confronted  with 
Nick,  surely  Mildred  could  not  persist  in  marrying  the 
foreman  of  a  mill!  A  workman!  A  common  laborer! 
Everything  else  she  could  do,  Mrs.  Carver  knew,  was 
merely  in  the  nature  of  a  feint,  a  decoy,  a  diversion. 
There  could  be  no  certainty  of  success  in  any  of  them. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  251 

But  Nick  would  be  a  solid  barrier.  At  intervals  all  the 
next  day  Mrs.  Carver  wrote  letters  to  Nick  —  wrote  and 
destroyed  them  as  being  either  too  undiplomatic,  too  ob 
scure  or  possible  to  misunderstand.  At  last  she  came 
out  flatfootedly  and  told  him  that  John  Barton,  the  fore 
man  of  a  flour  mill,  wanted  to  marry  Mildred  and  that 
the  girl  was  so  dazzled  and  hypnotized  that  there  was 
great  danger  of  her  marrying  him  before  she  came  to 
herself,  and  so  spoiling  her  life.  Mrs.  Carver  admitted 
that  she  didn't  know  what  to  do  about  it  and  that  she  was 
quite  hopeless.  Wouldn't  Nick  just  run  back  to  New 
York  and  see  what  he  could  do  ? 

Nick  went  out  into  the  dark  after  he  had  read  the  let 
ter  and  sitting  down  with  his  back  to  a  strong  trade  wind 
almost  steady  enough  to  lean  against,  began  to  fight 
through  again  the  same  long  round  of  argument  he  had 
had  with  his  father  down  in  Arizona  —  the  same  round  he 
had  gone  over  so  many  times  by  himself. 

He  could  go  back  and  ask  Mildred  to  marry  him,  and  if 
she  did,  bring  her  here.  He  looked  off  over  the  dim 
prairie  —  it  was  flat  and  dull  and  dead,  now  that  the  har 
vest  was  past.  The  horizon  line,  do  what  you  would, 
was  low,  and  the  only  drama  was  in  the  black  infinity  of 
the  sky  from  the  outermost  confines  of  which  each  star 
seemed  hung  by  a  quivering  invisible  thread.  No  girl 
like  Mildred  could  be  content  with  the  drama  of  nature 
when  the  human  interest  was  left  out.  Or  he  could  give 
up  all  this  wonderful  new  existence  that  he  had  come  into 
through  the  Service,  could  renounce  his  duty  to  his  coun 
try,  and  stay  in  the  old  life  that  the  sort  of  people  he  used 
to  know  took  for  granted  —  the  life  of  leisure  and  travel 
and  pleasant  social  intercourse  and  the  spending  of  much 
money.  But  could  a  man  who  knew  himself  a  slacker 
make  a  girl  like  Mildred  happy? 


252  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

And  yet  if  she  married  this  mill  foreman !  Nick  had  had 
his  attention  reluctantly  focused  on  this  John  Barton  be 
fore,  Mildred's  letters  from  Minneapolis  had  been  so  full 
of  him  that  Nick  had  got  a  disconcerting  reflection  of  the 
Sun  God's  luminosity.  And  there  was  the  talk  he  had 
heard  about  him  at  the  Christmas  party,  particularly  from 
that  impossible  Miss  Epstein,  of  whom  Mildred  seemed 
so  fond.  And  they'd  talked  of  him  in  Iowa,  when  he  met( 
Mildred's  Unit  in  the  summer ! 

He  sprang  up  and  beat  his  way  against  the  steady  pusKJ 
of  the  wind  back  to  his  lodgings. 

The  foreman,  sending  an  exasperated  message  after 
him  the  next  day,  discovered  that  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

TWO  days  later  as  John  Barton  came  down 
the  Carvers'  stone  steps  whose  costly  white 
ness  he  was  blind  to,  a  young  man  stepped 
up  to  him. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Barton?  "  he  asked;  "  I'm  Nicholas  Van 
Arsdale.  If  you  are  going  to  your  hotel,  may  I  walk 
with  you  ?  " 

John  Barton  had  never  heard  of  Nicholas  Van  Ars 
dale,  but  he  expected  surprises  in  New  York  and  the  lad 
did  not  look  formidable. 

Nick  had  to  call  on  every  bit  of  that  Dutch  determina 
tion  which  had  held  him  building  roads  in  the  desert  be 
cause  he  thought  it  was  his  duty  to  his  country,  in  order 
to  get  started  on  his  talk  with  John  Barton.  Out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye  the  boy  studied  the  man  of  whom  he  had 
heard  so  much;  whom  he  hated  with  a  fierce,  young  jeal 
ousy;  whom  he  wanted  to  persuade.  Nick  appreciated 
the  tall,  thin  figure,  the  strong,  clean  features,  and  most 
particularly  the  charm  which  his  age  and  experience 
might  have  for  Mildred,  as  he  plunged  desperately  into 
his  talk.  As  they  swung  up  Fifth  Avenue  through  the 
alternate  patches  of  bright  light  and  deep  shadow,  the  city 
was  tidying  up  for  the  night  and  putting  itself  to  bed.  The 
last  rumbling  buses  went  by  with  their  young  Service  con 
ductors  whistling  on  the  back  step;  Universal  Service 
postmen  were  making  their  last  collections  from  the 

253 


254  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

boxes;  burly  night  policemen  had  begun  their  rounds. 
New  York  was  settling  slowly  upon  its  pillows. 

"  Do  you  want  to  marry  her  yourself?  "  John  Barton 
asked  bluntly  when  Nick  had  blurted  out  the  case  between 
them  as  he  saw  it  —  the  case  which  determined  Mildred's 
career  by  her  marriage  and  hung  her  happiness  on  the 
man  she  accepted  as  a  husband. 

Nick  was  silent  while  their  heels  beat  out  the  time  for 
half  a  block. 

"  No,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  don't!  If  it  were  a  question 
of  marrying  Mildred  —  just  that  all  by  itself,  its  —  well, 
you  know  how  I  feel  about  that  I  guess.  But  I  couldn't 
take  her  out  to  wherever  I  might  be  making  roads ;  she'd 
be  miserable!  And  I  couldn't  come  back  to  New  York 
and  just  live  the  way  her  people  do." 

"  They  seem  pretty  comfortable  to  me." 

"  They  are  —  they're  deadly  comfortable  —  I  couldn't 
stand  it." 

"  Couldn't  stand  being  comfortable !  " 

"  Not  that  way  —  not  giving  up  the  work  I  know  I 
ought  to  do  —  not  stopping  helping  making  roads  that 
the  government  needs  to  move  the  crops  and  the  ore  and 
the  lumber  on !  I  can't  go  back  on  my  duty  to  my  coun 
try  because  I  want  to  marry  Mildred!  I'm  not  such  a 
poor  sort  as  that !  " 

"  But  you'll  be  moving  about  and  perhaps  you'll  get 
into  something  better  than  road  making.  If  you  waited 
a  few  years  don't  you  think  you'd  be  able  to  support  her 
comfortably?  " 

"  It  isn't  that,"  said  Nick,  "  it  isn't  being  able  to  support 
her,  it  is  being  able  to  make  her  happy!  That's  why  I 
am  talking  to  you,  Mr.  Barton.  What  I  want  is  to  make 
you  see  the  reasons  why  Mildred  ought  not  to  marry  me, 
are  just  exactly  the  reasons  why  she  ought  not  to  marry 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  255 

you.     If  you  care  anything  like  as  much  as  I  do,  you  have 
no  right  to  marry  her  at  all." 

John  Barton  stopped  abruptly  and  turned  on  Nick.  He 
was  obviously  angry  with  the  slow  white  anger  of  New 
England  that  turns  men  speechless.  His  hands  clenched 
themselves  in  his  pockets,  his  teeth  set  hard.  How  dared 
this  young  whippersnapper  try  to  dictate  what  he  should 
or  should  not  do ! 

Nick  faced  him  bravely.  Like  two  primitive  warriors 
they  stood  opposite  each  other  fixing  the  destiny  of  the 
woman  they  both  desired.  To  them  she  was  a  lovely  and 
desirable  appendage  —  the  flower  of  some  man's  life  — 
only  they  differed  widely  from  their  prehistoric  ancestors 
in  that  it  mattered  desperately  to  both  of  them  that  she 
should  be  happy.  Was  not  the  life  they  took  for  granted 
for  her  the  natural  life  of  the  fortunate  woman?  Wasn't 
the  choice  they  conceded  to  her  the  choice  between 
possible  husbands  ?  Weren't  they  torn  now  with  the  in 
tention  of  saving  her  from  the  contingency  of  a  foolish 
choice?  If  she  was  not  literally  the  prize  of  some  man's 
bow  and  spear  she  was  at  least  the  prize  of  his  powers  of 
persuasion.  That  she  might  be  expected  to  have  plans 
for  herself  not  bounded  by  marriage  had  not  occurred  to 
either  of  them.  At  last  John  Barton  turned  and  walked 
on  up  the  avenue. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  remember  that  she  has  promised 
to  be  my  wife,"  he  said  finally. 

"  Yes,  I'm  considering  that  and  also  the  fact  that  she 
once  promised  to  be  mine." 

"  What !  "  cried  the  man,  turning  on  him. 

"  Oh  it  was  when  we  were  both  kids  —  before  we  went 
into  the  Service.  Nobody  would  let  us  be  engaged  then 
and  when  our  Service  year  was  over  I  couldn't  stop  work 
ing  for  the  U.  S.  just  because  I  didn't  have  to  any  more. 
So  I  didn't  come  back." 


256  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

"  I  see.  You  thought  you  couldn't  give  up  your  work 
and  she  wouldn't  be  happy  the  way  you  had  to  live.  Well, 
it's  different  in  Minneapolis.  I  can  give  her  a  good  home 
there.  I  guess  we'd  be  able  to  hire  help  if  she  needed  to. 
I  can  get  a  brick  house  through  one  of  those  building  and 
loan  associations  and  furnish  it  up  right.  I'm  saving 
money  every  year.  They  tell  me  the  schools  are  first 
class  when  we  get  around  to  need  them.  The  city  is 
pretty  and  the  climate  is  good.  I'm  not  going  to  say  how 
much  I  care  for  her,  because  that  is  a  question  between 
her  and  me,  but  I  will  make  it  quite  plain  to  you,  young 
man,  that  I  care  enough." 

"You  don't  care  enough  if  you  marry  her  —  you 
wouldn't  marry  her  if  you  did.  You  don't  care  as  much 
as  I  do,  if  you  don't  just  let  her  alone !  " 

The  older  man  kept  himself  in  hand. 

"  I  look  at  it  this  way ;  the  girl  is  grown  up  and  she  has 
the  right  to  choose  what  man  she'll  marry.  If  she  wants 
you,  all  right.  You  are  young  and  good  looking,  and  I 
suppose  you're  well  educated.  Road  making  isn't  the.  job 
I  would  pick  out  for  myself,  because  you  can't  settle  down 
and  have  a  home  of  your  own  —  and  a  woman  likes  a 
home  of  her  own,  and  ought  to  have  it;  but  you  look 
smart  and  I  guess  you  could  get  into  something  else  easily 
enough.  You  knew  her  pretty  well  before  she  went  into 
the  Service,  and  I  have  known  her  pretty  well  since,  and 
I  don't  see  any  reason  why  she  wouldn't  be  happy  enough 
if  she  married  me.  It  all  comes  back  to  what  she  wants 
to  do." 

"  No,"  Nick  broke  in,  "  she  might  want  to  do  some 
thing  that  would  make  her  miserable.  I  want  to  save  her 
from  the  chance  of  making  mistakes." 

"  And  still  you  don't  intend  to  ask  her  yourself?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.     Because  I  think  she  oughtn't  to  marry 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  257 

either  of  us  —  the  kind  of  a  girl  she  is,  and  the  life  she's 
had!" 

"  She  was  a  good  little  worker  in  the  mill,"  said  John 
Barton. 

"I  know,"  said  Nick  desperately,  "  it  isn't  that !  Mil 
dred  would  work  or  do  anything  else  she  had  to  do.  It's 
the  things  outside  of  your  work  or  mine  that  would  make 
the  difference.  It's  the  whole  life  that  matters  —  she 
ought  to  be  quite  a  different  kind  of  a  girl." 

"  Well,"  said  John  Barton  slowly,  "  you  haven't  con 
vinced  me  and  you  haven't  persuaded  me.  I  care  for 
her  and  I  am  going  to  marry  her.  You  have  got  the 
right  to  cut  me  out,  if  you  can  —  but  she's  engaged  to 
me  now  and  I'll  keep  her  if  I  can.  There  is  just  one 
thing  I  think  that  we  ought  to  agree  about.  That  is,  not 
to  tell  her  that  we  talked  it  over.  I  should  think  it  would 
make  a  girl  mad  to  be  talked  over  like  this." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nick,  "  I  think  it  would,  and  if  you  told 
her  that  I  have  been  trying  to  persuade  you  not  to  marry 
her,  I  know  just  what  she  would  think  of  me." 

The  older  man  held  out  his  hand  and  Nick  with  his 
lips  trembling  and  his  brown  eyes  filling,  put  his  slowly 
into  it. 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  John  Barton  slowly,  "  she  would 
make  a  mistake  in  taking  either  of  us." 

"  And  I  think,"  said  Nick  unhappily,  "  that  it  would  be 
just  like  death  for  her  to  marry  either  you  or  me." 

To  neither  of  them  did  it  occur  that  Mildred  Carver 
might  be  anything  but  the  natural  "  second  "  in  the  game 
of  some  man's  career.  She  had  spent  her  required  term 
in  the  government  service,  but  what  of  that?  Wasn't 
she  the  same  feminine  complement  she  had  been  before? 

Nick  knew  that  having  had  a  year  of  work,  it  was  his 
patriotic  duty  to  go  on  with  it.  John  Barton's  work  was 


258  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

his  personal,  inseparable  religion.  But  both  of  them  took 
it  for  granted  that  the  duties  of  Mildred's  citizenship  had 
all  been  paid. 

Nick  flung  round  and  started  south  again  and  John 
Barton  stood  watching  him. 

"  Poor  kid  —  he's  in  love  with  her  all  right,  but  I  don't 
see  what  I  can  do  about  it.  Besides  he  probably  wouldn't 
be  able  to  support  her  for  a  good  while." 

John  Barton  walked  on  to  his  hotel,  thinking  content 
edly  of  the  little  home  in  Minneapolis  —  out  in  one  of 
those  new  suburbs  where  he  could  buy  through  a  building 
and  loan  association.  He'd  get  her  an  upright  piano  — 
perhaps  a  Victrola,  if  Mildred  would  rather  have  it — 
and  they'd  keep  a  girl.  His  mind  pictured  transiently  a 
golden  oak  dining  table  with  a  highly  varnished  top  and 
machine  carved  chairs  and  a  sideboard  to  match.  He 
seemed  to  get  a  flash  of  bright  color  from  the  rug  and  see 
lace  curtains  hanging  primly  at  the  windows.  All  these 
dreams  of  the  future  were  plain  to  John  Barton,  but  the 
realities  of  the  present  were  heavily  obscured.  He  could 
see  the  straight  road  from  the  mill  where  he  earned  his 
modest  salary  to  the  little  red  brick  cottage  where  he 
meant  to  spend  it,  but  he  never  even  suspected  the  devious 
network  that  led  from  mines  and  mills  and  factories,  from 
railroads  and  public  utilities,  from  government  bonds  and 
steamship  securities,  from  foreign  investments  and  do 
mestic  holdings,  to  the  house  on  Washington  Square.  The 
signs  of  great  wealth  were  not  visible  to  him  because  they 
manifested  themselves  in  forms  he  did  not  know.  Had 
Mrs.  Carver  been  bedecked  with  diamonds  instead  of 
wearing  around  her  neck  a  modest  string  of  what  looked 
to  him  like  white  beads,  —  had  she  rustled  in  silk  —  had 
Mildred's  arms  clinked  bracelets  and  her  clothes  dripped 
lace  he  might  have  understood.  But  what  was  a  simple 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  259 

red  brick  house  facing  an  imperfectly  groomed  park  that 
it  should  enlighten  him.  He  intended  to  have  a  red  brick 
house  himself  shortly  and  there  were  plenty  of  parks  in 
Minneapolis.  Of  the  cash  equivalents  of  pictures  and 
draperies,  rugs  and  china  he  knew  nothing.  He  had 
never  bought  a  chair  or  a  table  or  a  dish  in  his  life.  There 
did  seem  to  be  a  good  deal  of  "  help  "  about,  but  that  was 
probably  a  New  York  custom  —  and  they  did  have  a 
motor.  Well,  didn't  he  hope  to  buy  a  Ford  when  they  got 
the  house  paid  for?  The  Carvers  were  well  off  —  he 
could  see  that  —  but  he  was  not  conscious  of  any  over 
whelming  financial  disparity  between  him  and  Mildred. 
And  then  his  mind  settled  on  something  very  small  and 
soft  and  warm,  being  rocked  by  the  fireside,  and  some 
thing  very  fat  and  blond  learning  to  walk,  and  something 
very  active  and  vigorous,  and  perhaps  a  little  unruly 
swinging  his  books  by  a  strap  on  his  way  to  school.  And 
John  Barton's  eyes  crinkled  up  at  the  corners  and  his 
teeth  gleamed  between  his  lips  as  he  entered  the  lobby  of 
his  modest  hotel. 

The  next  day  Nick  entering  the  Carver  house  just  as 
luncheon  was  over,  saw  John  Barton  catch  at  Mildred's 
hand  as  they  left  the  dining  room. 

"  Nick,"  cried  Mildred  when  she  saw  him.  "  Oh, 
Nick!"  and  then  recovering  herself,  she  held  out  her 
hand  quite  formally.  Mrs.  Carver  greeted  him  with  a 
little  anxious  catch  of  the  breath  and  Ruthie  and  Junior 
fell  upon  him  in  glee. 

Mildred  turned  to  introduce  the  two  men  but  John 
Barton  said  gravely : 

"  I  met  Mr.  Van  Arsdale  last  night." 

There  was  something  of  the  condemnatory  preacher  in 
his  tone. 

Mildred  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  surprise. 

"  We  took  a  walk  together  —  and  had  a  talk." 


260  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

'  Yes,"  said  Nick  with  a  quaver  in  his  voice,  "  we  had  a 
talk  and  I  want  to  have  another  now  —  and  Mildred  with 
us." 

"  I  don't  think  that  would  be  necessary  —  and  I  don't 
see  that  we  have  anything  to  talk  over  anyway.  —  I 
thought  we  settled  it  last  night." 

Mildred,  the  last  vestige  of  color  gone  from  her  face, 
turned  into  the  library. 

"  Come  in  here,  please,"  she  said  in  a  high  little  voice. 

Her  mother  hesitated  on  the  threshold  and  then  let 
the  three  go  in  without  her.  She  realized  that  her  work 
on  that  situation  was  done.  She  had  written  for  Nick 
and  he  was  here.  The  immemorial  triangle  of  two  men 
wanting  the  same  woman  had  been  created  and  they  must 
solve  it  between  them. —  As  she  went  up  the  long  curving 
stairs  she  was  trembling  —  so  much  hung  in  the  balance 
of  the  next  half  hour ! 

Out  by  the  great  fireplace  Mildred  faced  the  two  men, 
though  her  cheeks  were  white  and  her  lips  trembling. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  questioned  in  a  clear,  light  voice,  as  sober 
as  a  bell  and  as  insistent. 

They  were  dumb  before  her  —  she  seemed  to  them 
both  quite  suddenly,  to  be  another  person  from  the  young 
girl  whose  happiness  they  were  so  concerned  in  safe 
guarding  —  an  individual,  an  independent  human  being 
quite  able  to  determine  her  own  life  and  with  plenty  of 
characteristics  in  addition  to  charm  and  lovableness.  They 
had  both  thought  of  her  as  looking  at  life  through  eyes 
only  half  opened  to  the  things  they  saw  in  it.  What 
could  the  obligation  to  serve  the  state  mean  to  her  now 
that  her  Service  year  was  done  ?  But  she  stood  as  a  new 
thing,  —  a  judge  set  over  them. 

"  Well?  "  she  questioned  insistently. 

John  Barton  turned  to  Nick  as  if  to  offer  him  the  first 
chance  to  speak  and  Nick  regarded  him  resentfully. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  261 

"  Mildred,  I  heard  that  you  were  going  to  marry  Mr. 
Barton  and  I  came  back  to  ask  you  not  to !  " 

John  Barton  interrupted  him : 

"  He  waited  for  me  when  I  left  you  last  night  and  tried 
to  persuade  me  not  tp  marry  you  —  I  thought  we  agreed 
not  to  mention  the  matter  to  you  —  but  Mr.  Van  Arsdale 
seems  not  to  have  understood  it  that  way." 

"  I  know  that  was  what  we  said,  but  I've  been  thinking 
of  it  ever  since  and  I  know  we  were  wrong  and  that  I 
hadn't  any  right  to  keep  my  agreement  about  it.  It's  so 
awful  anyway  that  just  breaking  my  word  doesn't  seem 
to  matter.  I  care  so  much  more  about  not  having  you 
miserable  than  looking  like  a  cad,"  Nick  plunged  ahead. 

"  I  did  ask  him  —  Mr.  Barton,  not  to  marry  you.  I 
told  him  he'd  no  right  to  ask  you  to  live  in  such  a  differ 
ent  way  and  among  such  different  people.  And  the 
things  girls  like  to  do  just  aren't  in  Minneapolis  to  be 
done.  You'd  hate  it !  You  wouldn't  be  happy  and  I 
couldn't  stand  it  not  to  have  you  happy  —  Mildred !  " 

Nick,  growing  incoherent,  put  the  weakest  side  of  his 
case  foremost.  As  Mildred  looked  at  him  her  color 
came  back  and  her  eyes  began  to  flash  with  a  light  that 
was  not  at  all  gentle. 

"  I  don't  see,  Nick,  how  it  can  matter  to  you." 

The  boy  crimsoned. 

"  I  know  Mildred  —  I  should  think  you'd  feel  just  that 
way  —  only  —  you  know,  don't  you  —  that's  the  reason 
I  stayed  away?  I  knew  you'd  hate  the  kind  of  life  out 
there  in  the  desert  or  anywhere  else  where  there  weren't 
any  roads  and  had  to  be  some  built.  It  wouldn't  be  right 
to  take  you  way  out  there  —  even  if  —  you  —  " 

"  Even  if  I  wanted  to  go?  " 

Nick  looked  at  her  unhappily. 

"  What  do  you  think  I  want  to  do,  Nick  ?  " 


262  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.   A. 

"  Why,  what  every  other  girl  does,  I  suppose,  —  have 
a  good  time  and  get  married." 

"  Well,  I  don't  —  or  at  least  that's  only  part  of  it.  I 
want  to  work!  I'm  a  citizen  just  as  much  as  anybody 
else  and  I've  got  to  give  my  share  of  patriotic  service  just 
like  any  man  or  any  ten  men.  I've  got  to  do  something 
that  needs  to  be  done !  " 

A  light  began  to  grow  in  Nick's  eyes  and  he  stepped 
hastily  towards  her;  this  was  a  new  Mildred  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  —  but  she  drew  near  to  John  Barton's  side 
and  slipped  her  hand  in  his  — 

"  And  so  I'm  going  to  marry  the  most  splendid  and 
noble  man  there  could  be,  Nick.  It  doesn't  matter 
whether  I  live  in  Kamchatka  or  the  middle  of  the  Sahara 
Desert  —  it's  all  the  same.  I'm  going  to  help  him  to  see 
that  the  flour's  made  right  and  packed  right,  and  shipped 
on  time;  and  I  couldn't  help  being  happy  doing  that,  could 
I  ?  I  can  get  along  without  the  concerts  and  the  dances 
and  the  dinners  and  the  shows  —  we  didn't  have  any  of 
these  things  in  the  Service  and  I  didn't  miss  them  half  as 
much  as  I  miss  the  Service  now.  And  as  for  the  people  — 
Why,  Nick,  I  met  every  kind  of  people  there  are  while  I 
was  out  there,  and  now  I  just  meet  all  the  same  kind.  It's 
so  dull.  I  can't  stand  it,  being  so  uninterested  all  the  time ! 
And  so  I'm  going  to  be  married,  Nick,  and  work  and  do  a 
lot  for  the  country  just  as  though  I  were  in  the  Service 
all  my  life.  You  needn't  bother  about  my  being  happy 
—  I  couldn't  be  anything  else!  " 

Nick  stood  looking  at  her,  his  mouth  a  little  open  — 
he  tried  to  interrupt  her  several  times  and  failed.  He 
was  younger  than  John  Barton  and  the  implications  of 
what  she  said  struck  him  more  quickly  —  the  real  Mil 
dred  of  the  new  day  was  more  visible  to  him.  He  felt 
that  he  must  define  his  own  changing  attitude,  but  John 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  263 

Barton  drew  Mildred's  hand  through  his  arm  and  stood 
beside  her. 

"  You  said,  last  night,  Mr.  Van  Arsdale,  that  if  I  cared 
for  Mildred,  I  wouldn't  marry  her  because  the  life  she'd 
lead  would  make  her  unhappy.  I  guess  you  can  see  that 
that  wouldn't  be  so.  Of  course  she  won't  have  to  work 
the  way  she's  thinking  of.  I  earn  enough  to  take  care  of 
her." 

"Not  work?  Why,  of  course,  I'll  work.  It  isn't  a 
question  of  having  to !  It's  what  I  want  to  do !  " 

It  was  evident  that  John  Barton  didn't  take  her  se 
riously.  He  had  got  just  so  far  in  democracy  as  the  idea 
that  it  was  the  patriotic  duty  of  all  men  to  serve  their 
country  all  the  time,  but  he  hadn't  extended  his  idea  to 
include  all  women,  —  certainly  not  to  include  his  pro 
spective  wife. 

Nick  felt  he  must  try  to  make  her  see. 

"  But  just  marrying  and  going  to  live  in  Minneapolis 
isn't  all  there  is  to  it,  Mildred;  —  and  just  working  in 
Minneapolis  doesn't  make  the  people  or  the  place  any  dif 
ferent.  If  you  don't  mind  the  way  it  is  away  from  New 
York  —  why,  you  know,  it  isn't  much  worse  in  Arizona 
or  Kansas  or  anywhere  else  where  they're  making  roads. 
—And  they're  as  important  —  roads  are  —  as  anything ! 
Why,  you  can't  even  get  the  wheat  up  to  the  flour  mill 
without  them!  So,  if  you'd  go  to  Minneapolis  to  live  — 
why  wouldn't  you  — 

Nick  was  stopped  because  he  couldn't  understand  why 
Mildred  was  looking  at  him  from  some  remote  glacial 
epoch.  He  had  no  idea  what  he  had  done,  but  he  stopped 
abruptly  in  his  certainty  that  he  had  done  something. 

"  Nick,"  said  Mildred  at  last,  very  slowly  and  with 
a  dangerous  iced  intensity,  "  Nick,  suppose  you  don't  go 
on  with  that.  You  don't  seem  to  understand  that  I  love 
John  Barton." 


264  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

The  boy  looked  at  her  silently,  while  the  new  light  died 
out  of  his  eyes,  and  then  said  hoarsely :  — 

"  No,  I  didn't  understand.  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mil 
dred.  But  don't  you  see  that  he  doesn't  understand 
either  ?  "  And  turning,  he  went  out  through  the  swishing 
velvet  portieres  over  the  silence-compelling  rugs. 

Mrs.  Carver,  watching  him  down  the  street,  saw  the 
droop  of  his  shoulders  and  the  uncertainty  of  his  steps, 
saw  how  he  started  to  turn  automatically  up  Fifth  Av 
enue  and  then  as  automatically  went  south  and  plunged 
into  the  mazes  of  Greenwich  Village  and  realized  that  her 
attempt  at  direct  action  had  failed.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  now  but  a  flank  attack. 

Mrs.  Carver  made  her  next  appeal  subtly  and  indirectly 
to  John  Barton.  The  only  stipulation  she  made  —  she 
got  Frank  to  agree  to  it  —  was  that  before  there  was 
any  formal  engagement  Mildred  and  John  Barton  should 
have  a  chance  to  know  each  other  better.  Ostensibly  to 
that  end,  the  Carvers  began  to  take  him  about  and  intro 
duce  him  socially  as  they  would  if  he  had  been  lord  of 
an  independent  dukedom. 

"  Does  your  father  put  on  his  '  glad  rags '  every 
night?  "  John  Barton  inquired  of  Mildred. 

"  Why,  yes !  "  she  answered  innocently. 

So  he  betook  himself  to  a  ready  made  clothing  store 
that  he  saw  on  Broadway,  and  bought  evening  clothes 
recommended  by  the  clerk  —  never  in  his  life  had  he  had 
a  suit  made  to  order.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  sat  well  on 
his  lank  frame  —  better  than  he  thought  it  did.  His 
shoes  were  not  quite  right,  and  his  tie  was  not  quite  right, 
and  his  hat  and  coat  were  very  wrong,  indeed  —  but  he 
didn't  know  it. 

The  first  thing  was  a  dance  of  the  debutante  set.  John 
Barton  danced?  Yes,  certainly!  He  waltzed  with  the 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  265 

sure  swing  of  the  raw-boned  New  Englander,  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way  which  so  few  of  the  younger  people  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  learn.  But  he  only  waltzed.  As  he 
swung  Mildred  out  upon  the  floor,  she  fell  in  with  his 
step  with  the  adaptability  of  a  good  dancer.  Had  they 
been  alone  in  the  ballroom  she  would  have  been  perfectly 
happy.  As  it  was,  she  felt  uncomfortably  conspicuous. 
In  between  the  dances  John  Barton  got  on  very  well,  so 
long  as  the  talk  was  impersonal,  for  the  girls  had  been  in 
the  Universal  Service.  But  there  were  older  women 
there,  and  with  them  John  Barton  was  wholly  at  a  loss. 

He  could  look  at  them  and  admire  them,  and  watch  the 
twinkle  of  their  jewels,  but  there  was  no  basis  of  common 
experience  for  talk  between  them.  Occasionally  he 
waltzed  with  Mildred.  After  he  had  seen  the  newer  kind 
of  dancing,  he  did  not  dare  try  it  with  any  one  else. 
For  the  most  part  he  stood  silently  looking  on,  his  appre 
ciative  eyes  following  the  young  girls,  their  delicate  gold 
and  silver  slippers,  their  well  coiffed  heads,  their 
fragile,  glistening  clothes,  their  flower-white  shoulders. 
His  eyes  followed  Mildred  about,  the  Spirit  of  Felicity 
she  seemed  to  him,  as  one  man  after  another  danced  with 
her.  There  were  a  few  boys  of  her  own  age  with  whom 
she  frolicked  frankly,  some  older  men,  not  so  acceptable 
in  his  eyes,  and  repeatedly  Apperson  Forbes,  whose  name 
he  did  not  know,  but  whose  tall,  lean  frame,  an  inheri 
tance  from  pioneer  ancestors,  was  not  unlike  his  own. 
Somehow,  John  Barton  resented  his  dancing  with  Mil 
dred. 

He  was  looking  forward  to  the  ride  home  as  the  best 
part  of  the  ball,  when  Mrs.  Carver  dropped  in  from 
where  she  had  been  dining.  She  stood  beside  him  and 
pointed  out  the  people  with  significant  explanations. 

"  Ah  —  there  is  Mrs.  Deversey  —  see,  in  white  over  by 


266  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

the  door  —  I  didn't  know  she  was  in  town.  And  young 
Tommy  Sloan  dancing  with  the  girl  in  pink  —  they're  the 
Railroad  group,  you  know." 

And  so  on  and  on  —  the  old  names  that  are  interna 
tional  and  the  new  names  that  are  coming  in.  John  Bar 
ton  had  never  read  the  society  columns  of  a  newspaper  in 
his  life,  but  this  sounded  to  him  like  a  financial  rating. 
He  was  visibly  disturbed  by  it.  What  his  untrained  ob 
servations  hadn't  told  him,  what  his  ignorance  of  society 
values  in  general  and  New  York  conditions  in  particular, 
had  left  him  ignorant  of,  Mrs.  Carver's  seemingly  casual 
comments  were  beating  in  on  his  consciousness.  But 
were  the  Carvers  necessarily  rich  because  their  friends 
had  money ! 

The  drive  home  was  unsatisfying.  How  affectionate 
can  a  diffident  man  be  in  the  presence  of  his  intended 
mother-in-law  ? 

Mildred  had  caught  her  foot  in  the  frill  of  her  gown, 
making  an  ugly  rent. 

"Is  that  the  little  dress  Annette  made  you?"  her 
mother  asked  her  casually. 

"  No,  mother,  it's  one  of  the  French  ones,  and  I'm 
afraid  Henriette  can't  mend  it." 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Mrs.  Carver  indifferently. 

This,  too,  was  disconcerting  to  John  Barton.  The 
wife  of  the  foreman  of  a  mill  could  have  no  such  de 
tached  attitude  toward  clothes. 

They  took  John  Barton  to  the  opera  and  he  sat  there 
wondering  what  it  was  all  about,  and  looking  at  the  lovely 
ladies,  some  of  whom  he  had  seen  at  the  dance,  and  at 
Mildred  in  front  of  him  in  the  box  —  Mildred  in  quite  a 
different  dress,  of  which  she  was  apparently  unconscious, 
carried  away  from  the  things  of  this  world  by  music 
which  seemed  to  him  to  have  neither  melody,  time  nor 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.   A.  267 

meaning.  What  did  he  know  of  this  art  that  gave  her 
so  much  pleasure  ?  She  would  never  hear  opera  in  Min 
neapolis  —  was  she  going  to  miss  it  much  ?  There  would 
be  concerts,  of  course,  and  the  theater.  It  would  cost 
them  —  let's  see,  —  three  dollars,  every  time  they  went. 
It  wouldn't  be  often  they  could  go. 

And  after  the  opera,  the  rich  limousine  and  the  uni 
formed  Wicks  seated  beside  the  uniformed  chauffeur,  and 
stopping  for  a  very  wonderful  little  supper  at  Sherry's  on 
the  way  home;  and  there  finding  people  they  knew,  also 
richly  dressed  and  eating  delicate  and  costly  food  and 
talking  gayly  about  a  great  variety  of  things  he  under 
stood  as  little  as  he  had  understood  the  opera.  And  then 
on  again  in  the  motor  to  his  modest  hotel. 

John  Barton  was  conscious  of  extreme  exasperation  as 
he  struggled  out  of  his  white  tie.  He  had  come  to  New 
York  with  a  great  hope  in  his  heart;  he  had  asked  Mildred 
to  marry  him  and  she  had  consented.  The  most  wonder 
ful  and  still  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world!  And 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carver  had  made  no  real  objection  —  that 
they  should  ask  for  a  chance  to  know  him  better  before 
there  was  any  talk  of  immediate  marriage  was  no  more 
than  reasonable  —  and  he  was  seeing  Mildred  every  day, 
a  wonderful  thing  in  itself!  But  what  good  did  it  do 
him  ?  He  was  all  meshed  up  with  other  people  and  other 
things,  —  clothes  and  dancing  and  music,  and  restaurants 
and  jewelry  and  motor  cars  and  servants  and  various  ex 
traneous  affairs,  that  no  sensible  human  being  would  thinl; 
had  anything  to  do  with  his  marrying  Mildred  and  which 
yet  seemed  to  form  a  perfect  abatis  between  her  and 
him. 

He  flung  his  hated  dress  coat  on  the  bed  and  throwing 
himself  on  a  chair,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets  as  he 
tried  to  think  out  this  social  organization  which  made  the 


268  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

love  of  men  and  women  the  slave  of  up-getting  and  down- 
sitting,  of  eating  and  drinking  and  talking  and  riding.  It 
seemed  to  John  Barton  as  though  he  were  in  the  processes 
of  suffocation  consequent  upon  being  swallowed.  He 
wasn't  getting  better  acquainted  with  Mildred  —  he  was 
simply  rinding  out  how  she  lived. 

He  was  beginning  slowly  to  grasp  the  significance  of 
the  Carver  menage.  Waddell  and  Wicks  and  the  other 
servants,  whom  he  had  rather  ignored  before,  began  to 
rise  before  his  startled  eyes.  The  bevy  of  motors,  the 
country  estate,  the  talk  of  travel,  could  only  mean  one 
thing.  Did  he  —  John  Barton  —  who  earned  his  living 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  and  liked  the  job,  want  to  be 
under  the  stigma  of  marrying  a  rich  wife?  Money  had 
not  been  mentioned  by  any  one  since  he  came  but  he  be 
gan  to  know  the  signs  of  it. 

They  were  really  pretty  well  fixed,  he  thought  —  but 
just  what  vast  stores  of  wealth,  inherited  and  acquired, 
lay  back  of  them  he  didn't  yet  dream.  And  should  he 
let  the  fact  of  money  come  between  Mildred  and  himself? 
Wasn't  it  just  as  bad  for  a  girl  as  for  a  man  to  lose  the 
one  she  loved?  He  wouldn't  have  let  Mildred  refuse  him 
if  she'd  been  poor  and  he'd  been  rich  —  and  since  she 
loved  him ! 

One  night  Mrs.  Carver  gave  a  dinner,  and  John  Barton 
was  full  of  trepidation  at  the  prospect.  This  formal  eat 
ing,  even  in  the  modified  form  practiced  in  restaurants, 
disturbed  him. 

He  found  himself  next  Lady  Nieth  —  gorgeous  in 
satin  that  seemed  to  him  to  have  several  colors  at  once; 
sparkling  as  though  a  vast  number  of  jewels  had  been 
poured  upon  her  haphazard  and  caught  where  they  fell, 
some  in  her  hair,  some  on  her  neck,  and  many  casually 
adhering  to  the  front  of  her  gown.  Lady  Nieth  exhib- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  269 

ited,  also,  an  unexampled  amount  of  very  beautiful  skin 
at  which  it  embarrassed  him  to  be  seen  looking.  Exactly 
how  to  address  her  he  didn't  know  and  tried  to  avoid  it  by 
circumlocution.  And  then  Mildred  was  not  beside  him 
where  he  could  touch  her  hand,  but  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  dimpling  and  sparkling  between  Mr.  Apperson 
Forbes  and  an  English  diplomat,  handsome,  flaccid  and 
very  tired,  who  seemed  to  drink  in  her  youth  and  beauty 
like  an  elixir,  and  to  defer  graciously  to  her  words.  John 
Barton  saw  this  in  surprise,  for  to  him  Mildred  was  not 
an  incipient  intellectual  force  but  a  lovely  young  female. 
But  he  was  kept  busy  trying  not  to  be  disconcerted  by 
Waddell  and  the  footmen,  or  to  trip  over  his  forks,  and 
to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  thought  he  had  finished  after 
each  course  and  was  surprised  when  another  dish  was 
offered  him.  Mildred,  glancing  across  at  him  between 
the  courtesies  of  the  diplomat  and  the  amorous  attentions 
of  Apperson  Forbes,  could  not  help  being  conscious  of 
these  fumblings.  And  John  Barton,  struggling  distress 
fully,  could  not  avoid  seeing  that  she  saw.  Mildred  felt 
herself  flush  with  embarrassment;  not,  she  told  herself, 
that  they  meant  anything  or  were  of  the  least  consequence. 
It  \vas  so  much  more  important  that  a  prophet  should 
prophesy  greatly  than  that  his  use  of  table  silver  should 
accord  with  the  customs  of  the  Carver  family.  But  be 
cause  it  brought  before  her  a  sudden  picture  of  Nick  with 
his  white  lips  and  hurt  eyes  and  she  wanted  to  put  him 
out  of  her  mind. 

And  then,  some  one  spoke  across  the  table  in  a  softly 
worded  criticism  of  the  policy  that  had  put  the  control  of 
the  grain  traffic  into  the  hands  of  the  farmers,  and  the 
answer  came  back  with  a  gentle  stricture  on  leaving  the 
management  of  business  to  a  government  that  didn't  pro 
ceed  on  business  principles.  And  John  Barton  caught 
the  quick  skipping  rope  of  the  talk  with  a  firm  hand. 


270  MILDRED  CARVER,   U.   S.   A. 

"It  seems  to  me  to  be  working  very  well,  —  from  the 
standpoint  of  getting  things  that  the  people  want  done 
as  they  want  them."  It  was  almost  the  first  word  he  had 
initiated  and  Lady  Nieth  hastily  took  her  shoulder  out  of 
his  way  as  she  turned  toward  him. 

"  Yes,  but  oughtn't  they  to  be  done  efficiently,  if  they're 
to  go  on?  "  It  was  the  diplomat  beside  Mildred  who  had 
spoken. 

"  Isn't  the  first  count  in  efficiency  what  you're  doing 
it  for?  You  see  I'm  the  foreman  of  a  government  flour 
mill  and  it's  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  basis  from 
which  all  efficiency  had  to  start,  in  my  work,  was  getting 
fiour  milled  and  shipped  to  the  people." 

Mildred  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair  now,  smiling 
straight  at  him.  This  was  the  prophet  she  followed ! 
John  Barton  saw  it  and  gathered  up  the  skein  of  the 
talk.  Again  it  was  the  tongue  of  flame  and  the  eyes  of 
the  seer!  He  would  have  made  a  great  priest,  Frank 
Carver  thought  as  he  listened.  He  painted  the  picture 
again  as  Mildred  had  heard  him  in  the  Unit  when  she  had 
thought  his  head  was  touched  with  light  and  his  lips  with 
the  fire  of  God.  The  wheat  grew  under  his  words  and 
all  the  world  was  fed  —  it  was  the  romantic  passion  of 
a  great  obsession.  The  table  was  his  congregation  and  he 
carried  them  with  him.  Even  Mary  Carver  was  com 
pelled  to  admiration,  and  Frank  told  himself  that  this  was 
a  man  of  power,  of  whose  kinship  he  should  be  proud. 
But  then  John  Barton  faltered,  and  picking  up  his  fork 
he  thrust  it  absently  into  the  table  cover  and  his  wine  glass 
overturned  and  the  gold  of  his  enthusiasm  was  trans 
muted  into  embarrassment. 

And  then  the  blessed  end  to  the  eating  came  and  the 
women,  in  harem-derived  custom,  floated  into  the  draw 
ing  room,  leaving  the  men  behind  them. 


MILDRED  CARVER,   U.   S.  A.  271 

With  the  men  alone,  John  Barton  was  more  at  ease. 
He  answered  their  questions  as  to  the  development  of 
the  Northwest  and  the  democratization  of  industry  as  one 
who  had  real  things  to  say.  A  trim,  gray-haired  man 
moved  over  beside  him  to  ask  just  how  effective  he  had 
found  the  Service  boys  and  girls  in  the  mill;  were  they 
really  good  workers  in  the  purely  business  sense  ?  Frank 
Carver  overheard  the  query  and  laughed  a  little. 

'  Trying  to  find  out  if  the  boy  earned  his  salt  at  the 
road  making,  Van  Arsdale  ?  " 

"Van  Arsdale!  "  So  this  was  the  father  of  the  boy 
who  hadn't  wanted  him  to  marry  Mildred!  Obviously 
that  boy  belonged  with  these  people  who  lived  so  differ 
ently  from  the  way  people  did  in  Minneapolis  —  the  way 
he  himself  intended  to  live.  Not  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
any  consequence,  of  course. 

John  Barton  showed  well  as  a  human  being  in  that  brief 
interval  before  they  came  into  the  drawing  room,  out  of 
the  smoke  of  the  men's  cigars  into  the  smoke  of  the 
women's  cigarettes,  and  to  Mildred  at  the  coffee  table  in 
the  old  fashion  which  still  pleased  the  Carvers.  He 
found  Mildred  a  little  flushed  and  rebellious  for  she  had 
heard  Lady  Nieth  ask  her  mother  where  she  had  dis 
covered  John  Barton,  as  though  here  were  a  new  variety 
of  garden  gourd,  —  and  had  heard  her  mother  answer 
with  truthful  but  most  deceptive  unconcern : 

"  Oh,  it's  his  mill  my  daughter  worked  in  last  year. 
Mr.  Carver  met  him  out  there  and  thought  him  rather 
remarkable." 

"Distinctly!" 

And  Lady  Nieth  turned,  cigarette  in  hand,  to  watch 
him  come  in  as  though  he  were  something  between  a 
trained  dog  and  an  African  Prince. 


272  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me  in  Minneapolis  that  you  wanted  to 
see  a  steel  mill  ?  "  Frank  asked  John  Barton  next  day. 
"We  can  motor  down,  if  you  care  to  —  a  small,  sub 
sidiary  mill,  but  you'll  get  the  processes." 

Can  one  refuse  a  coveted  father-in-law  ?  John  Barton 
won  so  much  of  grace  that  Mildred  joined  the  party. 

Here  the  foreman  was  on  his  own  ground  and  there 
was  clear  man's  talk  with  the  workmen  in  the  different 
divisions  of  the  mill  —  a  talk  between  craftsmen  in  which 
Mildred  wanted  to  join. 

"  Show  us  again  that  very  hard  steel  they're  exper 
imenting  with,  father,  please." 

And  they  were  led  into  the  laboratory. 

"It's  for  reaper  blades—  '  Mildred  explained.  "I 
told  father  how  they  broke  on  my  machine  in  Dakota  and 
he's  having  them  try  this  hard  kind  of  steel  for  them." 

John  Barton  stopped  abruptly  and  turned  on  Frank. 

"  Do  you  own  this  mill  ?  " 

"  Well  —  well  —  practically  I  do." 

'  Then  you're  the  Carver  —  the  one  in  steel?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  —  that  is  —  yes." 

"  Oh,  God !     Why  didn't  I  know !  " 

The  next  day  was  his  last  in  New  York  and  John  Bar 
ton  had  begged  that  he  and  Mildred  might  have  it  to  them 
selves. 

"  I  want  to  see  her  alone,  Mrs.  Carver,"  he  said  frankly. 
"  I  want  to  go  somewhere  in  the  morning  and  take  her  to 
lunch,  and  then  be  by  ourselves  in  the  afternoon." 

"If  you  take  the  motor  — 

"  No,  not  the  motor,"  he  said  firmly,  "  just  Mildred 
and  me." 

And  they  went. 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  273 

It  was  a  hard  and  wonderful  day  for  both  of  them; 
happy,  a  little  ecstatic,  and  tragically  sad.  They  had  gone 
in  mid-morning  over  to  Staten  Island  and  out  along  that 
beach,  dropped  like  a  jewel  in  the  pocket  of  the  town, 
and  then  turning  inland  had  struck  across  the  frozen 
marshes  toward  the  high  land. 

John  Barton  had  waited  his  whole  life  for  this  splendid 
young  mate.  His  heart  sang  and  the  blood  sped  to  his 
cheeks  as  he  tramped  up  the  beach  beside  her.  It  was 
love  of  her  little  hands  and  trim  feet  —  of  her  blue  eyes 
and  her  gold  hair  —  her  swift  gleaming  smile  and  the 
quick  up-scale  laugh  that  followed  it  —  the  soft  red  that 
flooded  to  her  low,  well  set  little  ears  when  he  kissed  her 
suddenly.  In  between  these  moments  of  joy  he  tried  to 
make  love  to  her  in  words. 

But  here  he  met  with  difficulty.  Mildred  wanted  him, 
when  it  came  to  talking,  not  to  tell  her  how  beautiful  she 
was,  or  how  he  thought  of  her  night  and  day,  or  how 
happy  they  were  going  to  be  in  Minneapolis,  but  of  the 
wonderful  work  of  feeding  the  people  and  how  she  was 
going  to  help  him  do  it.  She  wanted  him  to  paint  her 
future  as  an  assistant  priest  at  the  altar.  It  was  a  sort 
of  religious  exaltation  she  craved  from  him,  a  thing  that 
neither  the  church  nor  any  social  effort  had  ever  been 
able  to  give  her  —  nothing  but  John  Barton  himself 
speaking  as  the  Priest  of  the  Service.  She  wanted  from 
him  the  same  things  that  earlier  generations  had  got 
from  the  perfume  of  ascending  incense,  from  the  Per 
petual  Adoration  and  the  chanting  and  the  rolling  organ ; 
what,  earlier  still  had  come  through  the  witch  dances  and 
the  dervishes ;  and  way,  way  back  in  the  dim,  almost  pre 
human  stage,  from  the  shaking  of  the  war  gourds,  the 
sight  of  the  war  feathers  and  the  swift  rush  of  the  tribe 
on  the  common  foe,  —  this,  and  a  chance  to  put  her  de- 


274  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

veloping  creative  instinct  into  work,  —  a  chance  to  serve 
her  country.  With  John  Barton  it  was  the  mating  in 
stinct,  strong,  clean  and  direct.  With  Mildred  it  was 
something  quite  different,  more  complex,  and  far  more 
difficult  to  satisfy.  She  got  much  more  joy  out  of  the 
sound  of  his  voice  telling  how  the  farmers  of  the  north 
west  organized  the  Nonpartisan  League,  than  out  of  the 
touch  of  his  lips  on  hers.  She  didn't  analyze  her  own 
sensations,  was  quite  unconscious  what  they  meant;  but 
again  and  again  she  turned  the  love  talk  into  talk  of  the 
things  he  was  doing  and  that  she  would  do  with  him ;  and 
again  and  again  he  turned  it  back.  At  last  he  seemed  to 
understand  and  fell  silent.  They  were  climbing  up  Tode 
Hill  Road  when  they  came  to  a  little  leafless  wood  with  a 
carpet  of  fallen  oak  leaves  and  the  blue  bay  spread  out  be 
fore  them.  Mildred  stopped  to  catch  her  breath.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  the  crisp  air,  her  eyes  were  shin 
ing,  her  lips  were  smiling  with  happiness.  Never  had  she 
looked  more  beautiful. 

"  Will  you  be  too  cold  if  we  sit  here  on  this  little  wall 
for  a  moment?"  he  asked  very  gravely. 

He  took  her  left  hand  out  of  her  muff  —  pulled  off  the 
glove  finger  by  finger,  and  put  it  gravely  to  his  lips. 

"  Mildred,  I  love  you  with  all  the  love  there  is  in  me  — 
but  I'm  afraid  that  you  don't  love  me." 

The  girl  protested  in  frightened  haste. 

"  I  know  you  think  you  love  me,  dear  —  it  isn't  that. 
It's  that  you  don't  know." 

It  was  a  very  sober  hour  for  both  of  them  when  John 
Barton  put  the  case  against  himself.  Honestly  and  de 
liberately  he  did  it,  as  an  upright  man  who  would  not 
take  what  was  not  his  merely  because  he  could  get  it.  The 
case  was  two-fold,  —  the  first  and  lesser  part,  that  the 
things  she  must  give  up  as  his  wife  would  make  life  a 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  275 

hardship  for  her.  The  second  and  great  part,  that  she 
didn't  care  for  him  as  she  thought  she  did.  John  Bar 
ton  said  in  everything  but  words  that  the  role  of  prophet 
wasn't  the  one  he  cared  to  fill.  He  was  a  lover  and  he 
wanted  to  be  loved,  not  as  a  leader,  but  as  a  man. 

There  was  one  moment  when  Mildred  turned  to  him, 
holding  out  her  hands. 

"But  I  can't  give  it  up  —  I  can't!  Don't  leave  me 
with  nothing  in  the  world  to  do!  Why,  it's  like  being 
dead!" 

Then  he  caught  her  to  him  again,  but  only  for  a  mo 
ment.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  tramped  resolutely  up 
the  road  and  resolutely  back.  Out  of  his  pocket  he  took 
a  little  case  and  out  of  it  a  ring,  perfectly  conventional 
and  set  with  a  little  diamond.  Catching  up  her  bare  left 
hand,  he  slipped  it  on  the  third  finger. 

"  Mildred,  this  is  a  sign  that  I'm  not  going  to  marry 
the  woman  I  love  more  than  my  own  soul  —  will  you 
wear  it  for  me  ?  " 

When  they  got  back  to  the  house  in  Washington  Square 
she  was  white  and  drawn  as  she  had  never  been  before. 

"  I  must  see  your  father  and  mother  before  I  go." 

John  Barton  stood  bravely  before  them,  his  arm  around 
Mildred. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  that  we  are  not  going  to  be  mar 
ried.  I  have  found  that  I  love  your  daughter  too  much 
to  take  her,  even  with  her  own  consent,  unless  I  am  sure 
that  she  loves  me  more  than  she  loves  the  work  I  am  do 
ing.  She  has  told  me  that  she  hasn't  anything  to  do  — 
any  real  work  —  that  she  cares  about.  I  wish  that  you 
would  let  her  go  on  working.  She  made  a  good  record 
in  the  mill,  and  in  the  field,  too.  I  don't  suppose  you 
knew  that  what  she  was  really  going  to  marry  me  for, 
was  a  job  —  and  that's  almost  as  bad  as  marrying  for  a 


276  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

home.  I'd  just  like  to  say,  now  that  I'm  at  it,  that  I  ap 
preciate  the  way  you've  acted  toward  me  —  you've  been 
white.  I  know  how  you  must  have  felt  about  Mildred's 
marrying  me — brought  up  as  she's  been  and  living  the 
way  you  do.  You  didn't  think  I  cared  about  the  money, 
I  know,  because  I  guess  it  must  have  been  pretty  plain  I 
didn't  know  about  it.  You  knew  I  wasn't  a  fortune 
hunter,  anyway.  It's  a  bad  thing  when  anything  has  got 
to  come  between  a  man  and  a  woman  except  not  loving 
each  other  —  when  we  get  the  world  fixed  right,  there 
won't.  Well,  good-bye." 

Frank  Carver  wrung  his  hand. 

"  John  Barton,"  he  said  thickly,  "  I  wish  my  daughter 
did  love  you." 

Mary,  standing  by  her  daughter,  victorious,  had  noth 
ing  to  say. 

"If  I  could  just  speak  a  word  to  her  alone —  '  the 
man  faltered  a  little. 

Frank  swept  his  wife  out  into  the  hall. 

Half  an  hour  later  Wicks  coming  to  turn  on  the  lights 
found  his  young  mistress  crying,  alone,  on  the  arm  of  the 
great  leather  sofa  before  the  fire  and  stole  noiselessly 
away. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

MRS.  CARVER  had  not  taken  John  Barton's 
request  that  they  let  Mildred  go  to  work  at 
all  seriously.  Wouldn't  a  girl  of  any  spirit 
turn  against  the  suggestions  of  a  man  who  had  refused  to 
marry  her  ?  Wouldn't  she  therefore  be  more  susceptible 
to  the  attentions  of  some  one  else?  Unfortunately  Mrs. 
Carver  had  no  suitor  in  sight  but  Apperson  Forbes.  The 
list  of  eligibles  seemed  even  smaller  than  at  the  time  of 
Mildred's  debut.  So  many  of  those  who  had  seemed  to 
escape  the  infection  of  the  Service  at  first  had  succumbed 
to  it  later  and  gone  into  some  sort  of  work  that  took  them 
out  of  their  traditional  setting!  Mary  Carver  couldn't 
reconcile  herself  to  Apperson  Forbes,  and  she  began  mak 
ing  plans  to  take  Mildred  abroad.  Things  couldn't  be  so 
bad  in  England! 

But  Mildred  didn't  want  to  go  to  England  or  to  France 
or  the  Orient.  She  wasn't  interested  in  marriage,  she 
wanted  to  work  and  she  would  by  no  means  accept  the 
practice  of  philanthropy  or  uplift  as  a  substitute.  Even 
Old  Andrew  was  a  Job's  comforter. 

"  What  you  doing  with  the  girl,  Mary  ?  "  he  inquired. 
"  Going  to  let  her  marry  Forbes?  " 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it!" 

"  What  does  she  want  to  do?  " 

"  She  wants  to  go  to  work." 

"  Well,  why  not  let  her?  Can't  Frank  find  her  a  job? 
Frank !  "  as  his  nephew  came  to  greet  him,  "  Why  don't 

277 


278  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

you  give  your  daughter  a  job?  "  and  then  pattering  over 
to  his  grand  niece  behind  the  silver  coffee  urn,  "  Mildred, 
I'm  trying  to  get  your  father  to  set  you  to  work  —  seems 
to  me  you're  a  useless  ornament.  I  want  Frank  to  break 
you  in  at  the  Long  Island  Steel  Plant." 

"  But  there  aren't  any  women  working  there,"  ob 
jected  Frank  Carver,  "  at  least  I  think  not." 

"  Well,  put  'em  in.  Perhaps  we've  got  an  industrial 
imagination  floating  around  in  this  part  of  the  family  and 
we  don't  want  any  hated  rival  to  get  the  advantage  of 
it." 

"  Oh,  father,  would  you  let  me  work  there  —  on  the 
super-steel,  you  know?  " 

"  Certainly,  Mildred,"  said  Frank,  looking  into  the 
earnest  eyes  of  his  daughter  and  remembering  the  en 
treaties  of  the  foreman  of  the  mill,  his  almost  son-in-law. 

It  is  probable  that  the  promise  of  work  on  the  super- 
steel  which  Frank  Carver  had  given  his  daughter  so 
lightly  might  have  been  laid  indefinitely  on  the  table  of  the 
family  council  if  an  official  document  had  not  arrived  to 
keep  it  before  the  house.  It  was  a  large  formidable  doc 
ument  very  much  like  the  one  that  had  summoned  Mil 
dred  into  the  Universal  Service,  except  that  it  was  marked 
"  Department  of  Agriculture  "  and  instead  of  being  a 
command  to  service,  was  an  offer  of  work. 

The  document  stated  that  her  record  in  the  Service  had 
been  high  enough  to  entitle  her  to  a  position  as  profes 
sional  tractor  driver  and  leader  of  a  tractor  team  in  the 
field  service.  She  would  be  paid  her  living  expenses  and 
sixty  dollars  a  month  from  the  beginning  of  April  to  the 
last  of  October  with  two  weeks'  rest  in  July.  If  she 
wished  the  position  she  must  accept  it  within  a  month. 

Mildred  showed  the  document  to  her  parents. 

"  That  is  something  that  needs  to  be  done,"  she  com- 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  279 

mented  significantly.  "  It's  a  patriotic  service  —  helping 
to  feed  the  people  of  the  United  States.  I'd  be  going  on 
with  my  duty  as  a  citizen.  Besides,  I  like  it  and  I  know 
how." 

"  Mildred,  do  you  want  to  do  it  ?  Do  you  want  to 
leave  us  for  as  long  as  that  ?  " 

"  No,  Mother,  I  hate  to  go  away  from  home,  but  I  don't 
want  to  go  back  on  my  job,  either.  I  wouldn't  have  any 
right  to  do  that,  and  there  doesn't  seem  to  be  anything 
here  for  me  to  do.  —  The  uniforms  are  almost  exactly 
like  the  ones  we  wore  in  the  Service  only  the  collars  are 
blue  and  after  the  first  year  I  get  a  band  on  my  sleeve.  I 
think  the  place  to  get  them  is  the  Agricultural  Commis 
sary  down  by  the  river." 

Mrs.  Carver  thought  her  determined  young  daughter 
had  never  looked  so  beautiful  as  now  that  she  held  the 
winning  cards  in  the  struggle  between  them.  It  was  the 
leverage  of  this  official  offer  of  work  that  stirred  Frank 
Carver  to  bring  his  rival  job  of  work  on  super-steel  into 
quick  competition. 

So  a  square,  business-like  desk  in  the  little  office  next 
to  the  laboratory  was  the  door  of  the  world  that  finally 
opened  to  Mildred,  and  she  set  her  feet  joyously  and  with 
a  good  deal  of  confidence  in  the  new  country  she  found 
beyond.  Her  first  interest  was  to  find  uses  for  the  new 
super-steel  in  agriculture.  The  fact  that  she  had  broken 
so  many  reaper  blades  in  North  Dakota  was  her  point  of 
departure,  and  from  that  bit  of  sure  knowledge  acquired 
by  original  research,  she  had  to  find  out  other  directions 
where  super-steel  could  be  used.  And  this  led  her  into 
the  realm  of  mechanics  and  she  sat  at  the  feet  of  machin 
ists  in  the  mill,  and  studied  trade  journals  and  technical 
papers,  and  this  again  led  to  a  study  of  advertising  as  a 
means  of  making  the  people  who  ought  to  use  super-steel 


280  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

know  that  such  a  thing  existed.  Mildred,  provided  with 
a  stenographer  of  her  own,  plunged  into  all  these  fields  at 
once. 

Early,  six  mornings  in  the  week,  Mildred  went  over  to 
the  factory  office.  She  arrived  there  at  nine  —  late  for 
a  factory  hand  —  early  for  Mildred.  To  be  sure  this 
promptness  required  the  cooperation  of  Henriette  who  in 
a  state  of  moral  protest  woke  her  and  helped  her  to  dress; 
of  the  cook  who  in  a  state  of  overt  rebellion  rose  spe 
cially  early  to  get  breakfast  for  her;  of  Wicks,  who  in  a 
state  of  wistful  exaltation  drove  her  to  the  railroad  sta 
tion  in  time  to  catch  her  train.  But  though  it  seriously 
disrupted  the  smooth  running  domestic  machine  in  Wash 
ington  Square,  it  accomplished  its  purpose  of  getting  the 
new  super-steel  manager  to  the  factory  on  time. 

All  day  Mildred  worked  in  the  office  trying  to  discover 
new  uses  for  super-steel,  or  getting  in  touch  with  people 
who  might  use  it.  Her  letters  signed  "  M.  Carver  "  were 
taken  to  be  from  a  member  of  the  firm  and  treated  with 
respect.  But  when  she  called  in  person  on  representatives 
of  manufacturing  plants,  the  appearance  of  a  lovely  young 
girl  where  they  had  expected  to  find  a  mature  business 
man,  sometimes  created  confusion. 

It  is  not  probable  that  Mildred  was  the  best  promoter 
the  firm  might  have  commanded  —  how  could  she  be? 
But  that  was  not  the  reason  she  was  there.  Frank  Car 
ver  gave  her  that  chance,  as  he  would  have  given  her 
necklaces  and  rings  —  as  he  had  given  her  dolls  in  the 
past  or  would  buy  her  a  duke  in  the  future  if  she  wanted 
it.  But  it  is  true  that  some  of  the  qualities  that  had  been 
bred  into  the  Carver  line  from  generations  of  having  what 
they  wanted ;  the  tacit  habit  of  success ;  the  expectation 
of  being  listened  to;  carried  her  a  long  way.  And  then 
there  was  the  old  commercial  ability  latent  in  the  family 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  281 

and  under  these  favoring  circumstances  it  began  to  sprout 
and  grow. 

All  day  Mildred  stayed  at  her  work  and  at  five  made  a 
dash  for  her  train,  and  as  she  entered  New  York  was  met 
by  the  motor  and  took  up  her  old  life  again.  There  was 
time  to  dress  for  dinner;  there  were  dances  and  theaters 
to  go  to ;  there  was  quite  as  much  attention  from  men  as 
she  had  received  before  —  more  of  it  perhaps.  Her 
mother  thought  at  first  that  it  would  be  easy  to  divert 
her  from  the  factory  on  occasion,  but  the  year's  discipline 
held,  and  what  social  life  she  couldn't  get  in  the  evenings 
she  seemed  willing  to  do  without. 

All  but  one  of  her  problems  were  solving  themselves. 
She  was  doing  something  that  she  felt  needed  to  be  done 
for  the  country ;  something  she  liked  to  do  and  that  inter 
ested  her!  something  that  John  Barton,  still  her  prophet 
of  industry,  would  approve;  but  — 

Well,  she  sometimes  thought  of  Nick  coming  back  and 
saying  how  he  loved  her,  and  begging  her  to  marry  him, 
and  of  her  saying,  very  stern  and  noble : 

"  No,  Nick,  the  Mildred  that  you  cared  for  is  gone  — 
It  isn't  me  you  love.  I  have  plans  that  your  wife  couldn't 
carry  out.  The  world  is  going  to  be  better  fed  because 
I  have  lived." 

And  Nick  would  go  on  with  his  life  of  idle  pleasure 
which  he  had  taken  up  when  he  tired  of  road  making,  but 
always  saying  with  Lord  Tennyson  in  his  heart : 

"  We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we  see  it !  " 

And  then  another  picture  showed  her  Nick  being  killed 
somewhere  in  Arizona,  where  he  was  supposed  to  be  now 
—  killed  just  because  he  was  careless  or  something,  and 
herself  going  out  to  his  grave  on  the  lonely  mesa  and 
planting  flowers  about  it,  and  then  coming  back  saddened 
to  her  great  work  for  the  world.  And  every  year  she 


282  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

would  go  there  on  the  same  day.  And  her  hair  would 
gradually  turn  white,  and  people  would  look  at  her  and 
whisper  to  each  other : 

"  See,  that's  Mildred  Carver!  She's  the  one  who  did 
the  great  work  of  introducing  super-steel  to  the  world. 
Oh,  no,  she  never  married.  It  is  said  that  she  once  loved 
a  young  man,  and  he  died,  but  of  course  nobody  really 
knows.  Such  a  sad  and  noble  face!" 

And  there  was  another  picture  of  herself  cut  off  by 
an  untimely  death,  brought  about  in  some  undefined  way 
in  the  pursuit  of  her  job.  And  as  she  lay  cold  and  still, 
Nick  came  and  looked  at  her  and  the  slow,  hot  tears  ran 
down  his  cheeks  at  the  thought  of  what  had  gone  out  of 
his  life.  There  was  a  variant  of  this  picture  that  brought 
Nick  back  after  many,  many  years  to  stand  beside  the 
grass  growing  long  over  her  grave.  His  wife  would  be 
beside  him  —  a  wholly  unattractive  young  person  as  dif 
ferent  as  possible  from  herself  —  and  he  would  mentally 
compare  them,  and  think  how  he  had  lost  the  best  thing 
out  of  his  life,  but  all  he  would  say  to  the  young  person 
beside  him  was : 

"  She  was  Mildred  Carver,  and  she  died  long  years 
ago." 

Mildred  was  very  sorry  for  herself  as  she  looked  at 
these  pictures.  It  had  been  settled  that  Ruth  Ansel  and 
her  cousin  David  were  to  be  married  and  manage  the 
Northfield  Mill  together,  but  it  was  quite  clear  that  she 
must  go  through  life  unloved.  Only  men  that  she 
wouldn't  think  of  marrying  cared  for  her.  John  Barton 
had  refused  to  marry  her,  and  Nick  had  forgotten ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

NICK  wasn't  in  Arizona  as  Mildred  thought.  He 
was  helping  to  lay  a  road  which  would 
provide  an  additional  highway  on  which  the 
wheat  crop  of  the  Red  River  Valley  could  be  rushed  down 
to  Fargo  on  its  way  to  Minneapolis.  It  was  pleasant 
work,  not  over  difficult  —  there  were  no  great  changes 
of  level,  no  serious  bridging  or  excavating  or  filling  in, — 
just  a  straightaway  problem  of  making  the  best  road  for 
transport  trucks  from  the  materials  at  hand.  But  Nick 
was  moody  about  it  —  he  didn't  see  why  the  expert  at  the 
head  of  the  gang  did  as  he  did  when  any  one  of  a  half 
dozen  ways  he  himself  could  have  suggested  would  have 
been  so  much  better.  He  had  moments  when  the  whole 
business  of  covering  the  country  with  roads  seemed  of 
obscure  value  anyway.  Let  'em  pack  their  traps  on  their 
backs  as  the  Indians  did !  Or  let  'em  go  live  in  New  York 
City  where  the  roads  were  made  already ! 

And  one  day  when  he  had  flung  himself  down  in  the 
dreary  little  lobby  of  a  dreary  little  town  hotel  to  wait  till 
a  heavy  rain  stopped  and  the  work  could  go  forward,  who 
should  come  stamping  in,  shaking  the  water  from  his  rub 
ber  coat,  but  John  Barton.  Nick  jumped  to  his  feet  in 
a  sudden  involuntary  spasm  of  rage.  The  man  seemed 
so  to  embody  all  that  made  life  hateful  to  him.  But 
after  a  moment  he  turned  away,  and  then  after  another 
self-conquering  pause,  turned  back  and  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  man  who  he  supposed  was  his  successful  rival. 
John  Barton  took  it  in  considerable  embarrassment.  He 

283 


284  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A. 

had  been  so  certain  that  Mildred  loved  him  —  had  so  in 
sisted  on  that  fact  to  Nick  —  and  then  had  convinced 
himself  that  she  didn't!  Could  the  boy  know  all  this? 
If  he  did,  how  amused  he  must  be  at  the  situation!  And 
yet  he  didn't  look  amused,  he  looked  embarrassed  and  un 
happy. 

"  I  thought  you  were  working  in  Kansas,"  commented 
John  Barton. 

"  I  was,  but  they've  sent  me  up  to  help  on  these  roads. 
They  tell  me  they're  so  bad  that  they've  fallen  down  on 
the  job  of  getting  the  wheat  into  the  mills  on  time." 

"  They  have !  That's  what  I'm  here  to  see  about.  The 
supply  was  short  at  the  mill  and  I  sent  to  Fargo  to  find 
out  about  it  and  they  told  me  the  trouble  was  farther 
along  —  they  weren't  getting  the  wheat  themselves. 
So  I  came  on  to  look  into  the  business,  and  I  guess  it's  a 
matter  of  transportation  —  of  roads  —  the  trucks  don't 
stand  the  wear  and  tear.  We  seem  to  be  on  the  same  job, 
Mr.  Van  Arsdale.  What  are  the  prospects?  " 

"  I  don't  think  they're  very  good.  The  material  we've 
got  to  make  roads  of  is  poor  and  the  rains  wash  them  into 
ruts.  It  looks  to  me  as  much  a  question  of  getting  bet 
ter  built,  tougher  trucks  as  of  getting  better  roads.  We 
can  only  build  roads  up  to  a  certain  grade,  so  we  have  got 
to  get  trucks  to  suit  them." 

"You  want  to  synchronize  them?  Well,  can  you  do 
it?" 

"As  far  as  I  can  see  —  you  know  I'm  only  assistant 
foreman,  Mr.  Barton  —  it  gets  right  back  to  the  quality 
of  the  steel.  If  they  can  get  hard  enough,  tough  enough 
steel  for  the  essential  parts  of  the  trucks,  we  can  build 
roads  they  can  travel  over." 

"  What  you  need,"  said  John  Barton  slowly,  "is  super- 
steel." 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.   S.  A.  285 

"What's  that?" 

"  A  new  product  got  out  by  the  Carver  Mills  that  Mil 
dred  Carver  is  trying  to  put  on  the  market." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Where  is  she?  I  thought  — 
she  —  you !  " 

"  Come  out  here,  Van  Arsdale  —  will  you?  It's  only 
fair  to  tell  you  about  it  —  if  you  haven't  heard." 

As  honestly  as  he  had  told  the  girl  he  loved  why  he 
would  not  marry  her,  he  told  Nick  what  had  happened. 

"  I  guess  you  were  right  about  her  not  being  happy  with 
me  —  but  not  for  the  same  reason.  I  hope  she'll  be  happy 
with  somebody." 

And  that  was  why  Waddell  opening  the  door  one  Sun 
day  afternoon  at  the  end  of  March  ushered  Nick  Van 
Arsdale  into  the  still,  sweet  air  of  the  old  settled,  easy  ex 
istence  which  he  thought  he  had  left  so  far  behind  him ! 
As  the  hangings-  swung  together  a  wave  of  perfume  rose 
from  a  bowl  of  Chinese  lilies  —  a  rich,  heavy,  indolent 
perfume,  —  that  somehow  mingled  with  the  afternoon 
sunlight  saturating  the  silk  curtains,  and  with  the  quick 
frivolous  tick  of  the  French  clock,  and  with  the  slow  soft 
ness  of  the  Persian  cat  that  came  stepping  toward  him. 
It  was  a  world  where  it  was  inconceivable  that  anything 
could  happen  suddenly  or  without  due  consideration,  a 
world  fixed  beyond  the  thought  of  change.  Nick  walked 
over  to  the  white  fireplace  and  set  his  shoulder  defiantly 
against  it.  The  Persian  cat,  stealing  softly  after  him, 
circled  round  his  feet. 

As  Mildred  came  slowly  down  the  long  stairs  to  re 
ceive  him  she  felt  herself  dipping  into  a  stream  of  emotion 
and  threw  up  her  chin  as  though  to  keep  it  above  water. 
When  she  stepped  through  the  curtains  Nick  looked  up 
and  caught  his  breath.  Her  lips  were  a  little  apart,  her 
color  came  and  went,  her  eyes  were  twin  blue  stars;  but 


286  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

the  light  that  was  in  them  he  didn't  understand.  He 
didn't  think  or  reason  —  he  didn't  remember  that  there 
was  such  a  place  as  Kansas  or  such  things  as  roads;  he 
forgot  that  this  old  life  was  a  suffocating  thing  which  he 
couldn't  go  back  to  —  he  forgot  everything  but  Mildred 
as  he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  But  after 
the  first  moment  he  felt  both  her  hands  pushing  against 
him  and  stepped  quickly  away. 

"  Oh,  Nick  —  Nick  —  don't !  "  she  cried. 

They  stood  apart  from  each  other  —  these  two  young 
citizens  of  the  democracy  in  embarrassed  silence,  fright 
ened  at  their  own  emotion.  This  was  not  what  they  had 
intended.  It  had  done  itself. 

Mildred  looking  at  Nick  thought  that  he  had  never 
seemed  so  definitely  an  aristocrat,  so  far  removed  from 
any  possible  understanding  of  the  new  kind  of  things  she 
had  grown  to  care  for  —  of  work,  and  what  it  ought  to 
mean  to  everybody  to  be  a  citizen.  And  yet  never  had  he 
seemed  so  attractive,  so  personally  dear  and  desirable. 
But  she  knew  she  was  going  to  stand  by  her  resolve ! 

"  Mildred,"  said  Nick,  and  there  was  a  new  tone  of 
assurance  in  his  voice,  "  Mildred,  I've  come  back  to  ask 
you  to  marry  me.  I've  tried  to  make  myself  believe  that 
I  could  get  on  without  you  and  I  find  I  can't.  I'm  not 
going  to  wait  while  you  try  and  decide  whether  you  love 
me  more  than  anybody  else  or  even  if  you  love  me  at  all. 
I'm  just  going  to  make  you  marry  me  because  I  love  you 
so  much." 

The  girl  colored  with  resentment. 

"  I  know  I  acted  like  a  fool  when  I  was  here  before,  — 
when  I  talked  to  Mr.  Barton.  I  guess  I  didn't  know  how 
sore  I  was  till  afterward,  and  I  know  I  hadn't  an  idea  how 
much  I  loved  you.  But  you've  just  got  to  forgive  me  be 
cause  I  know  better  now  —  you've  got  to." 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  287 

Mildred  looked  down  at  her  fluttering  fingers  —  they 
were  a  little  stained  with  the  ink  with  which  she  signed 
the  firm  letters  —  Henriette  couldn't  get  it  all  off.  When 
he  paused  for  breath  she  began. 

"  Nick!  "  her  voice  was  very  low,  "  Nick,  I've  got  to 
tell  you  something  right  away.  It's  —  it's  very  import 
ant.  I  —  I  don't  think  you'd  like  to  marry  me  now  — 
even  if  you  think  you  would  —  I'm  quite  different  from 
what  you  think  I  am  —  from  what  I  used  to  be  —  I'm  not 
the  kind  of  a  girl  you'd  like  any  more  at  all." 

"  Not  the  kind  of  a  girl?  Oh,  Mildred,  there  couldn't 
be  anybody  else  in  the  world  I'd  care  for.  I  know  you're 
trying  to  let  me  down  easy.  And  I  can't  bear  to  think  of 
it  —  but  —  but." 

"Nick!" 

"  But  I've  got  to  make  you  understand." 

Mildred's  face  was  changing,  —  the  boy  plunged  on. 

"  You  see,  Mildred,  I  just  can't  go  on  with  the  kind  of 
thing  you're  used  to  —  not  after  my  Service  year,  I  can't. 
Why,  when  I  think  of  Torexo  and  seats  under  every  tree 
and  the  cut  grass;  and  then  of  the  way  it  looks  in  Arizona 
when  you're  up  on  a  rock  at  sunrise  and  the  valley  below 
gets  blue  and  purple  and  pink  —  and  then  you  plan  out 
where  a  road  ought  to  go  and  help  to  put  it  there  —  Oh, 
Lord!  I  got  to  thinking  of  that  house  in  Fifty-sixth 
Street  father's  keeping  for  me  to  live  in  —  just  the  same 
sort  of  a  house  I've  always  seen  —  and  even  when  I 
thought  of  your  being  there,  I  couldn't  seem  to  stand  it 
at  all.  It's  beastly  to  say  this  to  you  only  it  would  be 
worse  for  me  not  to." 

Nick  caught  his  breath  but  he  didn't  look  up  and  forced 
himself  to  go  on. 

"  And  so,  Mildred,  that  was  why  I  stayed  away.  I 
didn't  think  I  had  any  right  to  ask  you  to  go  away  from 


288  MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A. 

everybody  you  knew  and  everything  you  cared  for.  And 
I  knew  I  hadn't  any  right  to  give  up  my  work.  I  couldn't 
be  a  slacker,  Mildred,  even  if  there  wasn't  any  war.  I 
never  thought  you'd  feel  the  same  way  about  it  till  you 
said  how  you  were  going  to  work  with  John  Barton  — 
and  even  then  I  thought  you  didn't  understand  it  your 
self.  And  I  was  too  jealous  of  him  to  try  and  think  it 
out  anyway.  But  I  met  him  in  North  Dakota  and  he  told 
me  that  you  weren't  going  to  be  married  after  all,  and 
how  you  were  working  on  super-steel  that  I'd  never  heard 
of  before.  And  after  that  I  thought  I'd  never  get  leave 
to  come  here,  and  then  that  the  train  would  never  get  in !  " 

Nick  stopped  literally  for  lack  of  breath.  Mildred  still 
stood  fluttering  her  ink  stained  fingers. 

"I  —  I  was  going  to  tell  you  too,  Nick,  that  you'd  be 
disappointed  in  the  way  I  felt  about  things  —  you  see  I 
couldn't  tell  myself  last  year  what  I  know  now !  But 
it's  so  dull  here !  I  like  to  ride  and  dance  and  everything 
—  only  there's  nothing  else  at  all !  And  when  I  was  driv 
ing  a  tractor  in  Minnesota  and  sometimes  not  seeing  any 
thing  but  a  rabbit  for  half  a  day  —  why  I  was  part  of 
everything  myself !  I  was  part  of  the  government  and  I 
was  almost  as  important  as  the  crops  themselves.  Why, 
it  mattered  to  everybody  in  the  country  how  I  did  my 
work !  But  it  doesn't  matter  to  anybody  how  I  dance  or 
dress  and  that's  all  I  had  to  do  here.  I  couldn't  stand  it 
so  I'm  working  every  day  in  father's  steel  mill.  They're 
making  super-steel  for  reaper  blades  because  I  broke  so 
many  in  Dakota.  And  I'm  finding  other  things  that 
ought  to  be  made  of  steel  that  won't  break,  and  trying  to 
get  people  to  make  them  of  it  and  then  to  use  the  things 
after  they're  made.  Oh,  Nick,  it's  wonderful!  And 
that's  what  I  wanted  to  tell  you  about  —  I've  got  to  do 
my  work  as  a  citizen  too.  I  can't  give  it  up !  " 


MILDRED  CARVER,  U.  S.  A.  289 

Mildred  tried  to  look  at  him  dispassionately  in  the 
light  of  her  weakening  resolution.  She  repeated  to  her 
self  that  in  spite  of  what  he  said  about  his  work  he  hadn't 
cared  enough  about  her  to  come  back  all  winter  —  and 
was  surprised  to  find  that  this  had  become  a  matter  of 
no  importance!  She  called  up  her  intention  to  devote 
her  life  to  the  great  work  of  feeding  the  world,  —  and 
found  that  it  didn't  stand  in  her  way !  How  was  it  that 
the  Chinese  lilies  in  the  corner  smelled  so  much  like  the 
late  tuberoses  at  Torexo?  What  was  this  sea  of  riotous 
disquieting  perfume  that  invaded  the  staid  drawing  room 
in  Washington  Square?  Mildred  trying  to  lift  her  chin 
above  it,  looked  straight  into  the  eyes  of  Nick  Van  Ars- 
dale.  Was  he  coming  toward  her  or  was  it  her  own 
footsteps  that  were  bringing  them  together?  She  tried 
to  pull  herself  together  and  decide  what  she  was  to  do. 
Then  in  answer  to  her  own  question  she  heard  her  voice 
say  : 

"  Nick,  if  you  think  we  could  do  it  together  —  " 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


following  pages  contain  advertisements  of  a  few  of 
the  Macmillan  books  on  kindred  subjects 


Home  Efficiency 


BY  MARTHA   BENSLEY  BRUERE 

AND 

ROBERT  W.  BRUERE 

Cloth,  ismo,  $1.50 

Here  is  a  book  that  deals  in  a  clear,  scientific  manner 
with  a  phase  of  married  life  that  has  been  too  long  neglected 
or  treated  only  in  thin  sentimentalities.  The  young  wife 
has  been  expected  by  tradition,  and  by  dint  of  economic 
conditions,  to  manage  the  intricate  workings  of  the  home 
and  to  meet  and  solve  the  many  questions  that  arise,  with 
out  any  training  for  her  work  or  knowledge  of  the  problems 
she  faces.  The  authors  believe  that  for  the  vocation  of 
housewife  there  should  be  as  careful  technical  education 
as  for  the  physician,  the  lawyer,  the  editor  or  the  politician ; 
that  modern  science  can  be  harnessed  to  the  use  of  the 
household  just  as  it  has  been  harnessed  to  the  use  of  a 
steel  works ;  that  the  mother  of  children  has  an  opportunity 
for  the  use  of  skill  in  pedagogy  not  surpassed  by  the  teacher, 
and  that  cooperation  between  households  calls  for  as  much 
diplomacy  as  that  exercised  by  statesmen. 

The  book  is  a  direct  answer  to  the  statement  so  often 
made  that  housework  is  mere  drudgery,  for  it  shows  that 
the  proper  management  of  the  home  is  one  of  the  most 
complex,  intellectual  and  difficult  of  professions. 


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MAY  SINCLAIR'S   NEW   NOVEL 


Mary  Olivier:    A  Life 


BY  MAY  SINCLAIR, 

Author  of  "The  Tree  of  Heaven,"  etc. 

Cloth,  i2mo.     Preparing 

No  novel  of  the  war  period  made  a  more  profound  impression 
than  did  Miss  Sinclair's  "The  Tree  of  Heaven."  The  an 
nouncement  of  a  new  book  by  this  distinguished  author  is  there 
fore  most  welcome.  "  Mary  Olivier  "  is  a  story  in  Miss  Sinclair's 
best  manner.  Once  again  she  has  chosen  a  theme  of  vital 
interest  and  has  treated  it  with  the  superb  literary  skill  which 
has  put  her  among  the  really  great  of  contemporary  novelists. 

A  woman's  life,  her  thoughts,  sensations  and  emotions  directly 
presented,  without  artificial  narrative  or  analysis,  without 
autobiography. 

The  main  interest  lies  in  Mary  Olivier's  search  for  Reality, 
her  relations  with  her  mother,  father  and  three  brothers,  and 
her  final  passage  from  the  bondage  of  infancy,  the  conflicts  of 
childhood  and  adolescence,  the  disenchantments  (and  other 
drawbacks)  of  maturity,  to  the  freedom,  peace  and  happiness 
of  middle-age. 

The  period  covered  is  from  1865  when  Mary  is  two  years 
old  to  1910  when  she  is  forty-seven. 


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EDEN  PHILLPOTTS'   NEW   NOVEL 


Storm  in  a  Teacup 


BY  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 

Author  of  "The  Spinners,"  "Old  Delabole,"  "Brunei's  Towers,"  etc. 

Cloth,  ismo,  Ready  shortly 

This  carries  on  Mr.  Phillpotts'  series  of  novels  dealing  with  the  human 
side  of  the  different  industries.  Here  the  art  of  paper  making  furnishes 
the  background.  The  theme  is  somewhat  humorous  in  nature.  A  young 
wife  picks  a  quarrel  with  her  husband  because  he  is  commonplace,  and 
elopes  with  a  man  of  high  intellectual  ability.  Finding  him,  however, 
extremely  prosaic  and  a  bore,  she  is  glad  in  the  end  to  return  to  her  first  love. 

The  elopement,  it  might  be  explained,  was  purely  a  nominal  one,  carried 
out  on  a  high  moral  basis  with  the  most  tender  respect  for  the  lady's  repu 
tation  and  character.  This  fact  leads  to  a  number  of  unusual  and  fre 
quently  amusing  situations. 


From  Father  to  Son 


BY  MARY  S.  WATTS 

Author  of  "Nathan  Burke,"  "The  Rise  of  Jennie  Gushing,"  "The  Board- 
man  Family,"  etc. 

Cloth,  12  mo.    Preparing 

The  hero  of  Mrs.  Watts'  new  story  is  a  young  man  belonging  to  a  very 
wealthy  family,  who  has  had  every  sort  of  luxury  and  advantage  and  who, 
upon  entering  his  father's  office  after  leaving  college,  finds  that  the  huge 
fortune  founded  by  his  grandfather  was  mainly  made  by  profiteering  on 
the  grandfather's  part  during  the  Civil  War.  The  question  is  what  is  this 
young  man  of  the  present  day  to  do?  He  is  high-minded  and  sensitive 
and  the  problem  is  a  difficult  one.  What,  too,  is  his  own  father  to  do  —  also 
a  man  of  sterling  character,  though  of  a  sterner  type.  The  theme  which 
grows  out  of  this  situation  is  one  of  singular  interest  and  power  and  involves 
a  moving  crowd  of  characters. 

Among  these  is  the  hero's  sister,  who  marries  a  German  attach6  at  the 
embassy  in  Washington ;  and  another  sister,  who  marries  a  young  man  of 
the  same  social  set  —  and  things  happen.  There  is  a  drunken  scalawag 
of  a  relative  —  who  might  be  worse,  and  there  are  one  or  two  other  people 
whom  readers  of  Mrs.  Watts'  books  have  met  before.  The  dates  of  the 
story  are  from  1911  to  the  present  year. 


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The  Rising  of  the  Tide :    The  Story  of 
Sabinsport 

BY  IDA  M.  TARBELL 

Cloth,  i2mo. 

A  great  many  people  will  be  interested  in  the  announcement  that  Miss 
Tarbell  has  written  a  story  of  the  war —  perhaps  not  so  much  of  the  war  as 
of  the  American  spirit  which  contributed  to  so  large  an  extent  to  early 
victory.  The  scene  of  her  book  is  a  mining  and  manufacturing  town, 
which,  when  the  national  emergency  arises,  becomes  a  munitions  making 
center.  The  way  in  which  America  awakes  to  the  fact  that  it  has  a  distinct 
part  to  play  in  repelling  lawlessness  and  world  aggression  is  vividly  shown 
by  means  of  a  story  in  which  dramatic  incidents  occur  frequently.  There 
is  also  an  interesting  love  theme. 

The  war  is  over  to  be  sure,  but  this  fact,  perhaps,  makes  Miss  Tarbell 's 
narrative  of  the  days  when  this  country  was  being  tested  of  even  greater 
appeal. 

The  Jervaise  Comedy 

BY  J.  D.  BERESFORD 

Cloth,  izmo. 

This  novel  is  just  what  its  title  implies  —  a  comedy,  a  humorous  story 
that  will  interest  and  amuse  the  reader  through  its  situations  and  characters, 
and  will  delight  them  because  of  the  charm  with  which  it  is  told. 

A  young  dramatist,  making  a  week-end  visit  with  people  he  hardly 
knows,  suddenly  finds  himself  involved  as  an  onlooker,  and  later  as  a  par 
ticipant,  in  a  planned  but  only  half-executed  elopement.  The  incidents 
leading  up  to  the  elopement  and  following  it  are  spiritedly  narrated  and  the 
love  story  which  develops  between  the  dramatist  and  the  sister  of  the  male 
"eloper"  is  handled  with  rare  skill. 


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Our  House 

BY  HENRY  S.  CANBY 

Cloth,  ismo.    Preparing 

Mr.  Canby,  known  as  a  teacher  of  literature  and  critic,  also  as  a  writer 
of  books  on  literary  subjects,  has  written  a  novel,  and  one  of  singular  appeal. 
Its  central  character  is  a  young  man  facing  the  world,  taking  himself  perhaps 
over-seriously,  but  genuinely  perplexed  as  to  what  to  do  with  himself. 
Coming  back  from  college  to  a  sleepy  city  on  the  borders  of  the  South, 
his  problem  is,  whether  he  shall  subside  into  local  business  affairs,  keep 
up  the  home  which  his  father  has  struggled  to  maintain,  or  whether  he 
shall  follow  his  instinct  and  try  to  do  something  worth  while  in  literature. 
This  problem  is  made  intensely  practical  through  the  death  of  his  father. 
The  story  of  what  the  young  man  does  is  exceedingly  interesting.  It  takes 
the  hero  to  New  York  and  into  the  semi-artificial  life  of  young  Bohemia 
and  ultimately  brings  him  back  home,  where  he  finds  the  real  happiness 
and  success. 


All  the  Brothers  Were  Valiant 

BY  BEN  AMES  WILLIAMS 

Cloth,  i2mo.    Preparing 

This  is  a  stirring  story  of  the  sea  somewhat  suggestive  in  manner  of  Jack 
London's  work.  It  has  to  do  with  two  brothers  of  a  sea-going  family  who 
go  on  a  cruise  with  the  hope  of  ultimately  finding  their  older  brother,  Mark, 
who  was  lost  on  his  last  voyage.  The  adventures  which  they  have  on  a 
mid-sea  island,  where  Mark,  pagan,  pirate,  pearl-hunter,  is  found,  are 
absorbing.  Hidden  treasure,  mutinies,  tropic  love,  all  these  are  here.  The 
book  thrills  with  its  incident  and  arouses  admiration  for  its  splendid 
character  portrayal. 


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